A Song of Two Worlds
by Maxatax1029
Summary: Riddled with anxiety and fear, music was his only connection to others. Now, it has become a Pichu's only connection to his fleeting humanity. When a strange orb changes him and the world he lives in, time is an enemy. He must rush to restore order before his old self is lost forever and the world turns to ash.
1. Tonic Dissonance

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The night was frigid, yet clear, with only the pollution of city lights obscuring the stars above. Vincent was crumpled into a fetal position up against the wall shivering, but not because of the cold, but because of fear; this night he was to perform the piano piece he, with the help of his piano teacher, had prepared for the last month to play. He reached his trembling hand into his suit's breast pocket, pulling out an orange bottle with a white child-proof cap and turned the bottle to read the label. Doing so was pointless, as he knew exactly what was written: "James Brown, Xanax, take one tablet by mouth as needed."

It was anxiety medication, medication that he had once taken before he had transitioned to a daily dosage of a less potent substance. He had seen hundreds of pill bottles like this one before, only this one didn't have his name, but some stranger's. He had purchased this bottle a week ago in desperate preparation for this night, hoping the pills to be a plan B just in case the pressure and anxiety was too much for him to take, but as the night drew closer, the idea of going on stage and performing without... help seemed impossible. And so, plan B became plan A, and with thirty minutes left until his performance, he didn't have much time left take the tablet give it time to take effect before he stood on the stage.

He pushed down the cap and turned it, pulling it off and reaching two fingers in to grab the blue tablet he needed, cold hardly affecting his fingers. He left the bottle open and placed it and the cap carefully down next to him, his attention now focused on the blue, oval-shaped pilled that was divided in half by an indentation. He turned the tablet around in his hand, half-mindedly examining it, but mostly just trying to convince himself he wouldn't need it. He was very much failing, and was just about to take the drug before he heard the rhythmic crunching of grass underfoot approaching him from the right. He panicked and hastily dropped the pill back into its bottle, not sure if he could swallow it before the person rounded the corner, closed the lid, and stood to face the person.

He turned to face the person, hurriedly shoving the bottle back into his breast pocket. He couldn't, however, remove his hand from his pocket in time before his older brother stood only a few feet in front of him looking at him in the overtly suspicious stance. He tried to recover by sliding his hand up and down his side and stuttering, "M-man, sure is cold out here, r-right, Peter?"

Peter's stance remained unchanged, with his arms crossed and head looking menacingly, judgmentally, angrily down at his brother, using every inch he had on his brother, which was more than a foot's worth, to make himself appear even more menacing. He didn't utter a word, simply stuck out his left hand and looked at his brother expectantly. Vincent tried for a few more seconds to convince his brother of the lie. Not only was Vincent an awful liar, but Peter had known him all his life, and could read his brother like a page in a book.

Vincent's gaze dropped down and to the left, his left arm cradling his right as if it had been damaged in the attempted falsehood. He'd had this stance since before he could remember, and had no idea where it came from, only that it made him feel better. with a quick and evasive glance toward his brother, he asked, "How'd you know?"

Vincent scanned his brother's face, hoping, praying to see some sort of softening of expression. He hoped that he would at least get an answer to the question. He didn't. All he heard was Peter demanding, "Give it to me."

Vincent finally met his brother's gaze and with as much strength as he could muster, heat swelling in his cheeks, he whimpered, "I can't," tears pushing themselves out on the edge of his eyelids.

Finally, Peter's face and voice softened as he used his outstretched hand to grab his brother's shoulder and say, "Yes you can. You don't need those to perform."

The younger brother shoved Peter's hand off and took a step back, shouting, "No! No I can't! You don't get it, you don't understand what I have to deal with! The racing thoughts, constant self doubt, endless supply of irrational fears, pointless worries that I can't do anything about, the constant cycle of automatic negative thoughts that runs my mind, killing me from the inside, the gut wrenching fear that overwhelms me when someone looks at me funny! You don't get it! You don't have a disorder!" A few seconds passed by as his anger left him, followed close behind by a wave of debilitating depression and tears falling down and off his face. "You're not broken."

The tense air between the brothers floated silently before Peter lifted up his hands and admitted, "You're right." Vincent blinked a few times at this response, surprised. He didn't know how to respond: he had expected his brother to yell back at him, but his calm demeanor cut through his anxiety. "I don't have Social Anxiety. I don't get panic attacks. I don't go through the same things you go through. I don't know much of anything about them beyond what I've seen in you." He took a step forward and once more tried to comfort his brother by gripping his shoulder, but this only succeeded in making Vincent feel like his personal space was being invaded. "But I know you. I know that you've been dealing with these feelings for a long time, and more importantly, I know that you're stronger than your emotions. I've seen you fight through your anxiety before, even if it's never been on this big of a scale, it still shows that you can in fact do it. I know you can."

Vincent was floored by his brother's insight. What he had just said convinced Vincent his brother knew him better than he himself did. Even still, his anxiety remained. "But what if I have a panic attack?"

Peter didn't miss a beat and answered, "What if you do? You've had 'em before and yeah they suck, but they don't actually do anything to hurt you. I can pretty much guarantee that no one in the audience would judge you. They're all just waiting for their kid to get on the stage so they can pretend to be engaged for about four minutes and then be that much closer to leaving. In fact, I bet they'd be glad to see one less act in their program." Peter chuckled out his last sentence and kept a partial smile as he said, "You want to perform your own music one day, and I know that you will, but I know that you don't want to ruin that night by being high as a kite."

Vincent wiped the tears off his face, once more letting his gaze drop to the ground below, and hesitantly reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out the bottle of pills. Before he could have second thoughts, Peter took the bottle out of his hand and put it in his own jacket pocket. Vincent rubbed his face a bit more to try and hide the evidence of his emotional turmoil, mumbling, "Sorry for yelling at you."

"Just put on a good performance and we'll call it even," Peter chuckled, reached out his hand, and tussled his brother's hair a little. "Now come on, let's get inside. They'll be needing you back stage soon." Peter led the way back to the performance hall, Vincent following quickly catching up and falling in step with his brother, trying to keep a tight hold on his thoughts to keep from panicking.

He occupied his mind by thinking of the piece he was to perform: the first movement of Beethoven's _Moonlight Sonata._ It wasn't an immensely difficult piece, but it was one that had special meaning to him, as his father, before his early demise, used to perform the full piece for his family quite often. Vincent had tried incredibly hard to learn it on his own, with marginal success, before he could admit he needed a teacher to help him with it. His teacher had actually laughed when he had suggested that piece to be his first, but once he'd shown his teacher what he had already been able to accomplish on his own, the man was more than happy to help him. And help he definitely needed, as while his starting point was impressive, it was in no way been a finished product.

At the start, he could barely even read the bass clef, and moving both hands independently seemed like a pipe dream. But, through many frustrating nights of tedious practice, he had finally been able to perform the piece from beginning to end without stopping. Not devoid of mistakes, just not enough of them to warrant starting over.

Vincent walked next to his brother until they were next to the door that lead backstage. Once there, his brother stopped, pat him on the back and said, "Break a leg," and then went on walking, not giving his brother a second glance. Left alone with his thoughts once more, Vincent calmly assessed his mental state, accepting the anxiety for what it was: nothing more than an emotion. He carefully scrutinized every thought and made sure that each was rational and not emotionally charged, all whilst keeping his breath at a steady rhythm, making sure he wouldn't hyperventilate.

He gave himself a moment to prepare his mind for the anxiety, and then gingerly opened the door to the backstage, carefully avoiding making any loud noises, respecting the pianist currently on the stage. He kept his mind focused on the piece and his thoughts, leaving no room for panic to creep in, eventually losing awareness of his surroundings to the point that he had to be shaken by his teacher whispering, "You're on next, ready?"

Vincent's gaze snapped up to meet his teacher's, surprised at how quickly time had passed. While his teacher's expression and tone were eager, Vincent could hardly share in the excitement, being far too busy fighting off terror. He gave a weak smile and nodded his head, standing to approach the stage.

Once he entered the stage, he paid no attention to the crowd to his right, no attention to his teacher's introduction of him, no attention to the soft shuffle of the previous act finding a spot to sit backstage. He only looked at the piano. Each step brought him closer to the piano until he had to slide around the bench and sit down, allowing his fingers to rest lightly enough on the keys so as to not let a note play before he needed it.

His full attention transferred from the piano to his hands and the music that sat atop the piano. With a deep breath in and out, he began to play the triplets that began the piece, his mind intensely focused in the beginning on every note, beat, and rhythm. Yet, as time went on, thoughts of panic began to seep through his defenses, slowly welling up more and more as time went on. He tried desperately to shake these thoughts out of his mind, to hold tight to the feeling of calm that he associated with music, but the harder he tried, the worse his anxiety became. He tried harder and harder to stop the anxiety, the fear, the panic, but this proved to be his mistake. Because he was putting so much energy into his thoughts, his mind hadn't had enough to focus on the sonata, and his hands had ceased movement. For a moment he was so lost in thought that he didn't even notice he'd stopped playing. The instant he did, though, his mind went into full on panic.

Time seemed both to slow down and speed up exponentially, his mind racing to try and get back to where he had been in the piece, to try and start playing again, to do anything but sit there and have a complete panic attack. Unfortunately, this only resulted in him playing the same wrong note three times out of rhythm. Frustration began to mingle with fear, self doubt becoming self hatred, anxiety becoming panic, until he decided to just play the tonic chord and walk off the stage, now bowing, only running backstage once more, through the door he had entered, through the hall he had walked with his brother only minutes before, eventually leaving the building itself.

He ran to the corner where he had held the Xanax, his hands now empty. He crumpled up into a fetal position, clutching his legs close to his chest, rocking back and forth, panic wracking his system. His mind raced with hardly coherent thoughts, devoid of rationality but filled with horror. He moved his hands up to his head, gripping his hair, tears pouring from his eyes. Within his thoughts, a common thread began to connect them, subtle at first, but it grew and grew until eventually the thought was screaming at him from his mind. "You failed."

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A/N: Well, that's the first chapter of the rewrite. I hope y'all like it, and I'd love to hear your opinions on this chapter, so please review! If you can't, thanks at least for reading!I'll keep the old chapters up until I write the chapters that will replace them, but be aware that the plot will not follow between the two.


	2. Harmonic change

A/N: Wow! Over 500 hits within just a few weeks! I can't thank you guys enough for reading this. And the reviews are great, too. Sorry it took so long, I had a bit of an overload of schoolwork for a while, but nevertheless, here is the new chapter two. Hope you like it!

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Vincent listened intently to the noises of the forest (birds singing, bugs buzzing, the wind rattling the branches of trees, the occasional skittering away of a small animal) while walking a path that had, because of him, become very well worn. He walked in an attempt to forget the events of the last night, trying to edge the memory of his failure and panic from his psyche with very little success. Anxiety, however, wasn't the emotion he had to fight against: most of his anxiety had been tortured out of him with the panic attack, and what little bit was left had been drowned out by the serenity of the forest.

No, the emotion he currently fought against was contempt for himself. When it came to failure of any kind, even failure he had little to no control over, Vincent always went into a state of self-flagellation until he had thoroughly destroyed any and all self worth in his system. He hadn't even tried to blame his brother for not letting him take the medication: he knew it was wrong to do so. His brother wasn't the problem, he was. It was his fault he had bought the pills in the first place. He had tried to give himself a support that wasn't healthy or sustainable. He had succumb to his own anxiety. It was his thoughts that brought him panic. This thought process continued until he had convinced himself that his anxiety in general was probably his own fault.

He gave up trying to bring himself out of his emotional rut, eventually looking to the forest that surrounded him to give himself something else to focus on. He had never understood why, but he had always felt at home in the forest. Even as a child, the lush green, the huge trees, the multitude of tiny creatures that inhabited it, all brought him some kind of peace. He always came to the forest in times of emotional turmoil, the first time being when his father had died. He still remembered vividly those many years ago that the men in blue had come to inform his family that his father had been killed by a drunk driver. When his mother retreated inwards, becoming despondent, he retreated to the forest, not leaving for days.

Somehow, he had found solace and protection in the forest that his mother and brother weren't providing for him. He only returned after his meager water and food supply had run out. He expected to be scolded by his mother, but she hadn't even noticed his absence. The cold stare that she gave to the floor as she sat in the recliner in the living room burned holes into his memory. Anything he said would be given little to no response by her. Eventually, she had begun to respond, but it was far too little, far too late, and it took many years for him to put his trust in her as his mother again.

But, that was all very long ago, and he hardly even thought of those memories as he became lost in the beauty of the forest. Even though he knew every step to the path he was taking, awe still filled his mind as he surveyed the flora and fauna. He eventually came to a clearing of about ten square yards that he knew like the back of his hand. Because of this familiarity, he immediately noticed the white, round, and blemishless stone that lay in the middle of the clearing.

He approached the stone with curiosity, kneeling down to examine it. The more he examined the stone, the less it made sense. Despite being partially buried into the ground, not a speck of dirt remained on it when he picked it up. It fit comfortably in his hand, and seemed to shimmer when he held it up to the sun. Yet, it didn't even reflect the color off his shirt, almost seeming to produce its own light. He rolled it around in his hand, inspecting it carefully to try and find some mark or blemish, but found none. It was perfect.

All memories of last night were erased as he examined the stone, completely perplexed as to what it was, where it had come from, and why it was there. He didn't know of anyone else that roamed these woods, but this stone had no natural qualities. It was so smooth, somehow seemed to produce its own light, and it was far lighter than he expected it should be. With his mind engrossed in what this object was, he couldn't stand to stay in the comfort of the forest and forced himself to go back to his house so he could use at least marginally better equipment to try and determine what the sphere was made of.

He returned to his home through the same path he had left it. Luckily, he wouldn't have to explain the odd object to his brother or mother since it was a weekday, and they were at school and work respectively. Of course, he should have been at school as well, but he didn't care: he had always found school tedious and slow, and he was often far ahead of the curriculum, so he knew missing a day wouldn't really have an effect on his grades.

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Vincent had no idea what this material was. He measured the weight and volume, used that information to calculate the density, and found it to be about the density of hydrogen. Considering the stone wasn't hundreds of degrees below freezing, and didn't burn his hands to touch, he drew the obvious conclusion that the stone absolutely could not be hydrogen. He had tried to chip off a piece of the stone and look at it through a microscope he had (permanently) borrowed from his school, but he had been completely unable to break off even the tiniest fragment, and instead broke the screwdriver he had been using as a chisel.

Now, he was on his way to his computer to check and see if there was any information on this strange material there. He walked into the room, and almost turned on the lights before he noticed the light emanating from the stone. It was a very dull, barely visible yellow, and the glow inside seemed to grow and shrink in a manner not unlike a heartbeat. After the awe passed over him, he realized that it copied the rhythm of his own heartbeat. He walked over to his desk placed the stone down on it to see if it would continue to mimic his heartbeat, but as soon as his hand lost contact with the stone, the glow became stark white and kept a constant brightness.

Touching the stone once more, he felt very faint energy coming into him from the stone. He assumed he hadn't noticed it before because of how dull the feeling was: it only felt like a slight tingle through his veins. This gave him an idea: if the stone was producing energy, perhaps it would accept energy. He looked under his desk to find a box of frayed and cut wires, power cords, and dongles, searching specifically for a power cord that had once been a part of a lamp. It was a very simple power cord, only being different in that it was split in half up to the plug, and the wires were exposed. He pulled out some electrical tape and taped the exposed wire to opposite sides of the sphere. He placed the stone on a metal on his desk as a precaution to avoid fire, and then put the plug in the outlet.

This was a bad decision. Almost immediately, the light became so bright that it filled the room and nearly blinded him, but he had been able to shield his eyes just barely in time. A slight hum became a loud screech as the orb burst into two pieces, flying to opposite ends of the room, one embedding itself in the wall above his bed, the other only leaving a sizable dent in the cheap drywall. After the terror passed, he checked his body to see if any fragments had shot into him.

After counting his fingers, he went over to the light switch to try to light up his room so he could assess the damage. Once the lights were on, he surprisingly only saw two major points of impact. He walked over to the shard embedded in the wall, cautiously grabbing it and pulling it out of the hole. Looking at the hole in the wall, and the damaged drywall across the room, he mumbled to himself, "Mom's going to kill me when she finds out about this." He absentmindedly examined the broken half of the sphere, expecting to see a jagged, unrefined, broken mess where it had split from its other half. Instead, it was completely flat.

Shocked by this, he went over and grabbed the other half to find the same was true about it. He held each half in each of his hands, and after examining them for a moment, he wanted to do something that he knew was a bad idea. He didn't know how he knew it, but he knew that if he did what he was thinking of doing, much worse things than what had already happened would occur. But, be it the reckless nature of being a teenager, or the absurd curiosity that had made him pick up the stone in the first place, he decided to bring the two halves of the stone together once again.

Nothing happened. Well, not at first, but when he tried to pull the fragments apart once more, he found that it had once more become one stone. He held the stone in his right hand to examine it closely. As he looked closer, a bolt of electricity shot out of the orb, into his hand, up his arm, across his chest and through his body. He fell to his knees in pain, clutching his arm tightly. He grimaced harshly as he felt the pain flow throughout his body almost to the beat of his heart, as if it had become a part of his blood flow. The pain hit its climax and quickly began to dissipate, though he could still feel the energy flowing through him.

His eyes cracked open, only to be bombarded by the piercing light that once more was emanating from the orb, which somehow managed to float in the air. He brought his left hand up to shield his eyes from the light and looked down, trying not to be blinded, and saw that his bed was no longer where it had once been, not even any evidence that his bed had ever been there. Not a dent in the carpet, not faded wallpaper, nothing.

Too shocked by the disappearance of his bed, Vincent didn't notice the orb's light diminish as it slowly floated to the ground. He looked around his room to see that more than just his bed was gone. The desk in front of him that held his computer, once cluttered with schoolwork, orange pill bottles, gadgets and other knick-knacks he had been able to buy for cheap at pawn shops had been replaced by a printer and stacks of different kinds of paper. In fact, all of his possessions and any signs that the room was his had disappeared, either replaced by some office material or just empty space.

He tried to stand up, but the energy that had been coursing through his veins shot into his arm once again, making his arm feel as if it had been filled with magma. His thought that the pain couldn't possibly get any worse was demolished as he felt needles push themselves out of every inch of his arm. Despite the pain, he fought to open his eyes to see what was happening to his arm. When he saw, he wished his eyes had remained shut. Pale yellow fur now covered his arm, and was rushing up to his shoulder. He tried to pull off his shirt to watch the progression, but the heat in his arm spread with the fur, losing none of its intensity and even growing in the amount of pain it brought him.

His grimace grew tighter and tighter as the pins and needles shot across his body, climbing across his chest, up his neck, down his stomach, down his arm until it covered every inch of him. Terror tormented his mind as he tried to comprehend every impossible event that had occurred in the past five minutes, the orb, the shock, the pain, the fur, the heat, it all swirled around his mind until it went into a state of full panic. His heart beat faster, which seemed to spread the heat faster.

Tears poured out of his eyes in response to the immeasurable pain that he suffered as the heat engulfed his body, melting his bones and shifting them all into shapes completely unfamiliar to him. He felt his body shrink, his hands deform and lose the dexterity that made them human, devolving into paws, his arms losing what little definition they had as they became little more than nubs, his shoulders shifting forward to better equip themselves for a quadruped's posture, his chest compress and rearrange his torso into the shape of a trapezoid, his hips shifted to form those of a quadruped, his legs contracting and disappearing into nearly nothing, his feet rounding off into ovals, his toes melting together into three equal parts, some obtrusion forcing itself out of his spine.

His head was the most painful part, as his jaw rounded off, all his teeth but the front two on top becoming similar to the molars that had once been only at the back of his mouth, the front two flattening and becoming almost like squares, his head molding into the shape of an oval. The crunch of his bones mashing into these unnatural shapes nearly drove him mad, the crunching and reshaping of the cartilage in his ears into diamonds drove him even further over the edge, further than he could even comprehend.

While he had been slowly shrinking throughout his entire transformation, some force pressed down upon him, squeezing him like a stress ball. He tried to escape his shirt to no avail as it engulfed the entirety of his form, his new limbs being far too unnatural for him to move properly. Finally, the heat and pressure subsided, leaving the entirety of his form breathless, sweating, and squirming underneath the cloth that had once fit comfortably around his torso. The last few minutes, that had felt like hours, made it so he hardly felt energy fill his cheeks and stretch them to bizarre proportions. He squirmed, wriggled, flailed towards the neck of what once was his shirt. By some stroke of luck, he was able to flop himself out of his shirt onto his back, his heart pounding out of his chest.

The perversion of his room in grayscale filled his vision. Every bone, muscle, and tendon cried out in pain, dispelling even the thought that this experience was nothing more than a dream. He uncoordinatedly flopped onto his stomach and forced himself up to a bipedal standing position. He was about to fall to the side when an obtrusion from his back shot to the other side and corrected his balance. He carefully looked behind himself to see a tail. His tail. He had a tail.

He buried his eyes into what once were his hands and tried to mumble, "This can't be real," but found that his mouth wouldn't respond to what he tried to tell it to do. Instead, as his mind searched for a way to say what he wanted to, a string of repeated syllables of varying pitch and order floated into his thoughts. He tested out these new "words" and found them to be uncannily easy to produce. "Chu pi pichu pi." Despair overcame him as he listened to the sounds he produced and removed his paws to examine the body he now inhabited.

He loved Pokémon. So much so that anyone who knew anything about him knew that, so, without a moment's thought, he knew exactly what he was: a pichu.

He once more buried his head in his paws, shaking it and spouting the syllables he had just learned, hoping desperately that if he said them enough times that they would come true. They didn't. Despite the obvious evidence, he couldn't believe what had happened. How could he? He was trapped in a fictional creature's body! Not only a fictional creature, but a baby! That couldn't be true! He might only have been on the early side of fourteen, but nevertheless he was a teenager! Not a child! He might have been short before, but this was simply ridiculous!

After what felt like hours, it sank in that what he was facing wouldn't go away simply by his wishing it would. He pulled his head out of his paws and looked in front of him at the orb that had done this. That was it! If the orb changed him, it could change him back! He hobbled over to the orb as fast as he could, falling over almost every other step, but he didn't care. He had to get to the orb, had to touch it!

He fell once more, now only inches from the orb. Now that he was so close to it, he felt... odd. He could feel some sort of energy inside the orb. Not emanating from it, simply resting inside it. As he focused on it, he felt the same thing coursing through his body, with a large pool of it in his cheeks. Before he could even ask himself what the feeling was, his mind answered told him it was electricity. He shook the curiosity out of his head, stood up one last time and reached out to the orb.

Much like his every other decision within the past hour, this was a horrible mistake. The instant he made contact with it, electricity poured into his body, filling him beyond what he could bare, what his body could handle. He tried to pull away, but his muscles were locked into place as electricity shot into his body. His body tried to rid itself of the extra energy by shooting it out of his cheeks, but the electricity just arced back and shocked him, bringing even more pain. The onslaught of energy forced his body to expand all areas which stored, transported, and controlled electricity, resulting in some parts of his skin bursting open at the sudden expanse of mass and pressure.

Just before he thought his life would end, a final spurt of energy flung him a few feet back onto his back. He couldn't form a coherent thought, pain overriding any thought that floated by his mind. He didn't even fight against the darkness as it overtook his mind and brought him relief in the form of unconsciousness.

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A/N: Well, there it is. Not to brag, but I really like how the transformation sequence turned out. I'd love to hear what y'all thought of it, so review! Speaking of which, I've been considering different forms of responses. For the most part, I've been PMing the reviewer, but I was wondering if you guys would prefer that I responded in the next chapter. If you review, just tell me which kind of response you'd prefer, and if you don't specify, I'll just PM you. Reviews mean a lot to me, and so I want to give back to the reviewer at least a little bit of the joy they give me.


	3. No Resolution

A/N: Hey readers, sorry for the massive delay. I know excuses are pointless, but you guys deserve an explanation. I don't want to give out too much information, so I'll just give the bear minimum of it all. Basically, I went through one of my worse bouts of depression for the past two weeks, making it hard to do even my school work, and even suck the joy out of the stuff that I like to do. (Like writing) I tried writing in that state, but it was extremely lame and uninspired, and I figured it'd be better to give you guys something late and decent than a product quick and terrible. With my whining out of the way, on to the story.

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Every muscle, bone, tendon, and patch of skin _burned_ with pain. Vincent almost wished he could return to the unconscious darkness, but couldn't because of the immense pain. He tried to reach back into his memory to figure out why so much pain engulfed him, but couldn't remember anything rational. The only memories he had were of his form changing into that of a pichu, which of course couldn't be the case. That would be ridiculous. As time went on, more than just the sense of pain returned to him. He inhaled, he became aware of a multitude of scents that almost overloaded his mind. His mind reeled at the overload of information that he could barely make out at all. It felt like his consciousness was about to leave him when something in his mind clicked, feeling almost like a physical shift. Suddenly, all the scents were as easy to interpret as words on a page.

He easily recognized the musty carpet that hadn't been vacuumed in weeks, an oak desk, piles of papers, and, most confusingly, he smelt an animal. His mind told him that was his scent, but that didn't make any sense. Why would he smell like an animal? He tried to push that thought out of his mind, as well as all the obvious and useless information his nose told him. His eyes reluctantly and sorely opened, giving him information just as confusing as what his nose had told him.

In his half-sleeping state, it took him a moment to realize he couldn't see any color. He blinked a few times in an attempt to fix whatever was wrong with his eyes, but to no avail. Closing his eyes once more, he brought his hands up to try and rub his eyes awake, but felt something extremely wrong. His hands felt extremely stiff, as if he couldn't move his fingers, and his face didn't have the contours it should've. He opened his eyes to examine his hands to see what was wrong, immediately wishing he hadn't.

His hands weren't there. Instead, hanging above his eyes were two, light grey stubs. Paws. His paws. He had paws.

He stared in awe for a few moments, trying desperately to make sense of the nonsensical. He closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to wake himself up from what must be a dream. _I don't have paws, I don't have paws, I don't have paws,_ he thought to himself, trying desperately to convince himself what he saw wasn't real. He decided to examine the rest of his body, certain that when he did so, it would reveal that the paws he saw were just a figment of his imagination, a remnant of that bizarre dream he'd had.

Forcing himself into a sitting position, he looked down at what he knew would be his normal, human body. It wasn't. Not even close to it. Being a fan of Pokémon, he immediately recognized the scruff of jagged black fur around his neck, the almost triangular torso, the ridiculously proportioned paws that should have been his feet as the characteristics of a Pichu. If it weren't for the extreme pain he was already in, he would have attempted to pinch himself to prove he was dreaming.

But, he wasn't dreaming, and he couldn't pinch himself if he wanted to. Without opposable fingers, the best he could hope to do was scratch himself. But, instead of harming himself, he fell into deep thought, trying to understand how this would make any sense in the rational world. He searched his memory for an explanation, and remembered the bizarre orb he had found in the forest. He tried to stand up, but found it to be much more difficult than he'd expected. He almost toppled over when some force behind him acted as a counter balance and kept him on two feet. He looked behind himself to see a tail. His tail. He had a tail.

After testing to see if he could move it, which he could, he buried his face in his hands and shook his head, hoping against hope that he would be able to wake up from this nightmare. He couldn't. He opened his eyes to the same grayscale environment he had closed them to, the orb once more on his mind. He surveyed his surroundings, doing his best not to fall over, finding the orb just behind him. He tried to step towards it, but only succeeded in falling on his face.

He attempted to swear, but found that he couldn't remember how to move his mouth to produce the sounds he wanted to. He shook his head once more to try and clear his head. When he tried to push himself back up to stand and walk, he realized he had no idea how. Even though he had been moving his limbs only moments before, he couldn't seem to do anything. Terror overwhelmed him for a few moments before something in his mind clicked. He actually felt some sort of shift in his mind, making him cringe.

Once the feeling of discomfort had passed, he pushed himself up onto his two paws, still uneasy about what had just happened. He rubbed his head, trying to rid it of the memory of the episode. _Why couldn't I stand? It's as simple as pushing myself onto my two paws!_ He realized too late that he had just referred to his feet as paws. A chilling realization fell over him. That shift in his mind had done more than just make him uncomfortable, it had rewritten portions of his mind.

He tried to say to himself, "I have feet not paws," to undo the damage, but found that his mouth wouldn't move like he wanted to. For a moment, all that came out of his mouth were unintelligible mumbles and stammers when he felt another shift in his mind. Terror once more came over him, as almost immediately he began to say, "Pi pichu, chu pi." He wasn't speaking English. He couldn't speak English. He tried desperately to say anything else, but found that his mind would just search for the pichu equivalent and he'd begin to say that before he could do anything about it. He immediately stopped trying to talk, hoping that the less he tried to speak, the less his mind would be rewritten.

Terror overwhelmed all of his being. Not only had his body changed, but his mind was following suit. If he couldn't find a way to change back in time, he might become nothing more than an animal. With newfound purpose, he scurried to the perfectly white orb, ignoring the fact that he'd run on four legs. He reached his paw to touch it when he remembered the energy flowing into and through his being, and the extreme pain it had caused him. He jerked his paw back in fear. A dejected look fell across his face. This orb was the only lead he had on his transformation, what could he do if he couldn't touch it.

Dejection became frustration and frustration became anger. This orb had forced him into the form of a tiny, insignificant mouse and then attacked him with absurd amounts of energy! As anger welled up within him, he felt the electricity that coursed through his body flow into his cheeks until they almost felt like bursting. At that point, he instinctually shot the electricity out of his cheeks into the orb, anger overriding rational thought. This orb had hurt him and it deserved to pay!

The charge flew from his cheeks, but much of it missed the orb, and even more arced back to hit him. He was so absorbed by the burning pain coursing through his body that he barely noticed the slight ping coming from the orb. Fighting back tears, he looked at the orb to see it had begun to roll towards him. He turned to run away, but didn't move fast enough as the orb hit his backside and the scene around him vanished.

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He couldn't see, feel, smell, touch, hear or even taste anything. I was as if he was surrounded by absolutely nothing. At first, his thoughts were disjointed. One thought floated in and out of his mind with seemingly no connection to the next. Any time he tried to focus on a thought, it would dissipate, as if he had tried to grab a handful of steam. Eventually, the image of two clear spheres colliding and breaking apart over and over came into his mind. It seemed as if each sphere captured each one of his senses. He could not only see the spheres, but felt as if he himself was a part of them.

Suddenly, exactly as the spheres once more broke apart, his perception was absorbed into one of them. He saw his room, but he couldn't see himself. He didn't move so much as he imagined viewing the environment from different angles or positions. He searched his room for his body, but found nothing. He willed his perception to move towards and through his bedroom door so that he could inspect the rest of his house, when he felt an atomic energy smash through himself. He turned back to see that his room had become what it had been before he'd come in contact with the orb.

He tried to think about what this meant, but none of his thoughts could be considered for any useful amount of time before it fell out of his mind. Though thoughts evaded him, emotions surrounded him. This room gave off a simultaneous feeling of fear and comfort. Both familiar and foreign. He tried to consider this, but was interrupted by another atomic shift, resulting in the room becoming entirely foreign to him, in memory and emotion. It was simply an office, with a small pillow beneath the desk that held up the computer. Atop the pillow was a small, sleeping pichu.

The thought _that's me?_ came through his mind, but it didn't seem to come from his own. It seemed as if it had come from another source. He tried to say hello, and while no audible sound was heard, the thought must have been perceived, as it was quickly met with a response. _Hello? Who's there?_

His thoughts began to solidify, and he began to try to interpret the situation. _My name is Vincent. Who are you? Do you know where we are?_

The thoughts that responded came back quick and fairly certain. _I'm Short Circuit, and this is the place where the humans let me sleep. I like it here because of all the electricity, even if the grass is weird under my paws. But why can I see myself? How am I outside my own body? Am I looking into one of the human shiny portal things?_

It took Vincent a moment to process what had been "said" to him. _No, it's not a mirror. I don't know what's going on. Are you that-_ but his next thought was cut off by another surge of energy.

Before he could recover and try and finish what he was saying, he heard Short Circuit scream. _What was that? It keeps happening, and it hurts my head! And it brought me back to the not place._

 _Not place? What do you mean by that?_ He viewed the room that he was now in, seeing it to be the not quite his room area again.

 _This place looks a lot like the place the humans let me stay, but it's also different. My bed is gone, and the big wood and metal thing is smaller, with less electricity. I don't like it._

Before he could ask anything else, the room disappeared once more. He was in nothing for only a moment before his perception returned to the black and white image of the not quite his room. He turned to face the orb that had touched him, considering the bizarre place he had been transported to. As he did, a realization struck him. He had been viewing two different worlds combining into one. The other thoughts must have been those of the pichu's body he now occupied.

 _Short Circuit? Are you still there?_ He thought, but received no response. He looked down at the pichu body he occupied with fear and guilt. The collision of the worlds must have forced him into the body of the pichu, and his mind, being by far stronger, took over. He could only hope that the poor pichu was in some dormant state, not forced to observe his body with no input or control. He remembered the bizarre state of that world between worlds he had been in only moments ago. He could only hope that pichu wasn't trapped in such a prison.

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A/N: I hope y'all liked that. If you did, review and tell me what you liked about it! If you hated it, tell me what was so terrible! I'd love to hear your input either way!

Also, I'm strongly considering changing the name of this story, so I've set up a strawpoll on a few ideas I've had for new names. If you like one of the names, go ahead and vote, but if you think of something better, shoot me a PM or toss your idea into a review. I know FF doesn't really support links, so I'm going to break up the link with spaces to try and make it unrecognizable as one. Just type what's there without the spaces. I know it's a hassle, but it's the best I can do. I'd really appreciate the input!

strawpoll .de/ a8c1db8


	4. Dominant Fifth

A/N: Well, hope this makes up for last time. Shout out to Shieldliger001 for the new story title! I don't know how the rest of y'all fell about it, but I like it a lot. Without further adieu, I hope you enjoy this next chapter.

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Vincent pawed dejectedly at the door trapping him in what used to be his room. He regretted having closed it, but how could have known he'd change into a tiny, fictional mouse too small to turn the knob? He let out a sigh and looked to the ground, letting his paw drop to his side. He wouldn't be able to get out of the room until someone opened the door for him. Too small to open the door to his own room. Doing his best not to fall into depression and hopelessness, he turned around to try and think of some sort of thing he could do other than sit in a pool of self-pity.

His eyes fell on one of the stacks of paper in front of the desk that held his computer. _I'll have to tell Mom and Peter somehow. Might as well write._ He stumbled over to the pile of papers, doing his best to keep a bipedal stance. He knew it would be much more comfortable and easy to walk on all fours, but he was doing his best to be as human as possible. His body might have changed, but he wouldn't let his mind devolve to that of a beast's.

He stopped once he was within "arm's" reach of the pile, realizing he'd need something to write with. He always kept his pens on the left side of his desk, but he had no idea if that had changed like much of the rest of his room. Even if they were where they were supposed to be, he was a foot tall. How could he get on top of a desk at least three times his own height? He grit his teeth in frustration, anger rushing into his cheeks. He felt it fill and shoot out of his cheeks, only some of it hitting the papers. Most of the energy just arced back and hit him instead.

Wincing, he tried to shake off the frustration and pain so he could move forward and think of some kind of plan to get himself something to write with. He looked at the giant desk, wracking his mind for some sort of plan. His attention shifted to the cheap wicker chair to his right. He knew he couldn't jump high enough to get on the desk, but maybe he could climb his way up. He stumbled towards the slanted metal beam wrapped in wooden threads. He used to hate the way this chair felt to sit in, but was now grateful for the uneven surface: that would make it at least a little bit easier to climb.

He used all the strength he could to embed the claws of his right hand into the chair, then positioned his opposite foot halfway up his own body length. In one fluid body motion, he used his arm and leg to propel himself upwards, jamming the claws of his left hand and right foot into the wicker chair, both sliding down a few inches before sticking into the weak wood.

He lightly pulled on his right hand, but quickly realized his claws were in too deep to just easily pull out. He tried to wriggle his right hand out of the wood, but had no luck. He looked down to see how high he had gotten. Despite only being maybe a foot off the ground, his minuscule height made it seem horrifyingly high. He immediately looked forward at the lines of wicker before him. He felt his breath and heartbeat quicken. His body froze. He didn't know if he could move. He didn't want to. Any wrong move could send him tumbling down, resulting no doubt in extreme pain, if not death.

His breath and heartbeat continued to quicken as his mind raced with thoughts of his inevitable demise by falling. His mind spiraled down until he felt his it lurch. Suddenly, his distance from the ground was minuscule, and the distance he would have to scale to get to the seat of the chair easily surmountable. He thumped his head against the chair in frustration. He had just let his mind get rewritten again. He pulled out his right paw with newfound ease, and scratched himself up the chair's height until he was on the padded seat. He looked up to the surface of the desk. Half his mind told him the distance was easily jumpable, while the other half reasoned that the distance he would have to jump was almost twice his own body length.

He didn't let himself think about the issue for long, fearing his mind being rewritten even further. Before he could stop himself, he leaned back, then forward, putting all his strength into his legs to propel himself upwards. He found out too late that he had put far too much strength into his jump, resulting in him flying a foot above the surface of the desk and smashing into the monitor.

Cracked and jagged glass sliced his skin, one piece breaking off the monitor and embedding itself in his skin as he slid down the now broken screen. The screen eventually ended, and he fell from the it onto the keyboard. Pain overwhelmed him. His throat tightened as tears slipped out of his eyes. Every slight cut stung more than he thought possible. He desperately tried to hold back his tears, but couldn't. He felt so hurt, so helpless, he didn't know what he could do other than cry.

A torrent of tears overwhelmed him, accompanied by weeping and wailing coming unbidden from his mouth. Rational thought of any kind escaped him, leaving him only with pain, fear, and helplessness. Every attempt at thought was flooded out of his mind. He sank into the flood of emotions that filled his mind, unable to keep his head above the water. He began to drown in his sadness, unaware of and unable to pay attention to his surroundings.

He only passively noticed the screeching of skidding tires outside his house, unable to form any coherent thought or conclusion of what the sound could mean. Only when he heard the sound of a door opening and slamming shut, and his own name being frantically shouted was he finally able to form a complete thought. He heard the sound of pounding footsteps coming closer and closer to his bedroom door.

Fear now came over him, having no idea what this creature was, but he couldn't move because of the immense pain emanating from his torso. At any slight movement, he felt the glass embedded in his chest shred more of his skin to pieces. He could hardly turn his head to face the being open and fly through his door, filled with terror until he recognized the creature to be his brother. His brother's eyes went from panic, to shock, confusion, and then worry.

His brother approached him carefully, yet hurriedly, stealing quick glances at the room around him. Vincent could easily tell his brother knew something was wrong with his room, but Peter seemed far more concerned about the mouse bleeding out than the clear aberration that was his brother's room. He softly whispered, "Are you okay, little guy?"

Vincent shook his head between sobs, wincing as the glass tore into his flesh. He watched his brother glance up at the shattered monitor and back to his bloodied form, easily putting two and two together. The look in Peter's eyes went from compassionate to clinical as he examined the mouse's body. Vincent couldn't help but feel as if his privacy was being invaded. His brother was not only looking over the entirety of his form with only a slight movement of his eyes, but his current state made it even more sinister.

Worse than the blood flowing from his various wounds, worse than the glass embedded in his flesh, worse than the pain that ebbed from his torso was the fact that he was naked. He felt blood flow into his cheeks and heat fill them. But, the heat quickly dissipated as the energy shot from his cheeks in the form of electricity. He saw his brother recoil and quietly scream, "Hey! Don't shock me! I just want to help!"

Before he could remind himself his brother wouldn't understand him, he averted his gaze from his brother's as he mumbled, "Sorry." Before he could manage to work up the courage to face his brother, Peter practically ran out of the room. Vincent immediately cried out, "No! Please, I'm sorry! Help!" Desperation once more flooded his mind, tears and cries forcing themselves out of him. Unfortunately, he now had the clarity of mind to be embarrassed by his tears. He couldn't be crying! Men don't cry!

He forced himself to roll over onto his four legs in an attempt to follow after his brother. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Peter running down the hall, holding a red bag with a white cross on it. His brother knelt down and dropped the med kit on the floor and rummaged through it, quickly finding latex gloves, cloth, forceps, and elastic tape. As he pulled on the gloves, he looked the mouse in his eyes and softly explained, "I'm going to help you. It's going to hurt a lot, but it will feel better. I need you to trust me. Don't shock me."

Vincent nodded his head, extremely relieved that his brother had returned to help him.

"Okay, I'm going to pick you up for a moment. I'll try not to hurt you, but you look pretty hurt, so it may still hurt. Okay?"

Once again, Vincent nodded his head, slightly embarrassed that his entire body weight could be lifted with one of his brother's hands. Though his brother's touch was tender, the latex made the contact feel disgustingly foreign to him. The pain brought on by his brother's movement was extreme, but he did his best to grit his teeth and bear it, until he was finally put down on the flat surface of the desk.

He didn't even try to hold back the tears that flooded his eyes because of the pain. His brother began to soothingly explain while holding up the plastic forceps, "Okay, you have a piece of glass in your chest. I'm going to have to pull it out, but it's going to hurt a lot." Vincent nodded his head again, doing his best to mentally prepare himself for the pain.

Terror came over him when his brother swiftly pinned him down with his left hand and he felt the immense pain of the glass being yanked out of his skin, slicing all the flesh it came in contact with. Out of instinct, he struggled and squirmed, fear overtaking reason. Without thought, he let out shots of electricity, most of them hitting either the desk or himself. He tried to wriggle himself out of his brother's grasp, but he couldn't. He stopped the moment he realized just how easy it would be for his brother to break him in half with one hand. He was instantly still as stone, desperately afraid for his life.

He knew his brother loved animals, and knew that he would never do anything to hurt one, but he couldn't rid his mind of the image of his brother squeezing him tight enough to shatter his bones. The moment his brother let him go, he pounced into a quadruped stance. After this quick motion, his vision shrank until he could barely see a dot, his mind began to float on the edge of unconsciousness, nausea and weakness causing his limbs to collapse. He could barely feel his brother lift him up and wrap the cloth tightly around his torso, and seal the bandage with tape.

He didn't know when he had been put back down, he just knew he wasn't being held anymore. For a moment, he saw his brother's concerned face, but then his vision began to cloud again until he couldn't see anything. He tried to sit up, but felt his brother's hand hold him down. "Just stay still. You need to rest." He didn't have the energy to fight, so he just laid back. Suddenly, his eyes were immensely heavy. Without the fortitude to fight against it, he succumbed to his exhaustion and slipped into unconsciousness.

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A/N: Yep, another chapter ending with the protagonist losing consciousness. Ending chapters is definitely one of my weakest skills, but what can I do? If you enjoyed the chapter, or the story so far, I'd love to hear what you like about it! If you hate it, I'd love to hear what you hate about it! Either way, I'd love it if you reviewed! I try to respond to all of them.


	5. Frustrated Seventh

A/N: Thanks for all the support recently! I've been getting loads of views, reviews, and new follows! Not trying to brag, just genuinely thankful that you guys are liking the story! Anyways, here's the next installment of the story.

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The forest was all around him. It was huge, bigger than it should have been. He noticed this, but couldn't acknowledge it. He was too busy running for his life. Something was chasing him. He didn't know what. Suddenly, a giant dog was in front of him. He tried to pivot around, but behind him was a flaming monster. It lunged towards him. He bolted to his west, barely escaping the jaws of the reptilian flame monster. He knew he was running on all fours, but he didn't notice. He didn't have time. He had to run. He was hungry. Running was more important. The trees began to thin. He was in a clearing. Something picked him up. It's paws were slimy and gross. It had no fur, but it didn't have scales either. He let out all the electricity he had pent up inside. Almost all of it came back to him, but he didn't feel it.

He was staring at a face that he recognized but couldn't place. Everything else but this bizarre creature left his perception. He only saw the face. It opened its mouth. He was going to get eaten. It spoke. "Wake up little guy. You need to eat." His racing heart and empty lungs were replaced by a rested and lacerated body. His horror changed to hunger. The creature disappeared from his vision, leaving only darkness. After a moment, he heard the same voice coo, "Come on Pichu. Wake up." Vincent was confused. The creature and voice in his dream had been his brother. Why couldn't he recognize him?

He assumed his pichu form had just been the result of the dream, but as he searched his recent memory and felt the bandage rub harshly against his fur, he couldn't deny his current form. He opened his eyes to see his brother's face inches away from his own. He got up with a start, backing up a few paces in fear. He knew he would be safe around his brother, but instinct told him any creature bigger than him was a threat. His brother backed up and whispered, "It's okay, I won't hurt you. I just wanted to wake you up so you could eat. Are you hungry?"

Vincent nodded, the ache in his stomach crying out for food. As his brother turned to the refrigerator, Vincent looked around to survey his surroundings. He was just on the counter in his normal kitchen, for the most part. The only difference was that all of the cheap, old, mismatched hardware had been replaced with moderately well kept sets. The new hardware wasn't amazing, but definitely a step up from what he was used to.

The surveying of his surroundings was interrupted by his brother plopping a piece of meat mere inches in front of him. He instinctively sniffed the meat and recoiled at the smell. The smell reminded him of death. He tried to hide his disgust, not wanting to be rude to his brother, but the smell was just revolting. Unfortunately, pichu, being basically the babies of their species, are some of the worst creatures of deception. So, of course, his brother noticed and asked, "Do you not like ham?"

Vincent, refusing to comply with the demands of instincts, stepped towards the meat and rolled back into a sort-of-sitting position. He did his best to grab the ham with his paws, but since he had no opposable fingers, he had to pinch the ham between his paws. He brought the bundle of meat up to his mouth, ignoring his body crying out in disgust, and forced himself to bite a chunk out of the meat. Though it tasted just like he remembered, the flavor made him want to vomit. Even despite this, he forced himself to chew the meat. Or, at least he tried. His teeth didn't do anything to make the chunk of meat smaller. Any time he'd clench and release his jaw, the ham would be just as big as before. Even still, he forced himself to swallow the oversized chunk of meat. But instead of falling down his throat and into his stomach, it caught halfway and forced him into a coughing fit.

After three solid heaves, he had successfully ejected the saliva covered meat from his mouth, onto the counter in front of him. The ham in his paws made his skin crawl, so he did his best to throw it away. He couldn't throw it very far, but the message was clear. When he looked up, he saw his brother was extremely confused. Vincent averted his gaze out of embarrassment, static popping off his cheeks. "Why did you try to eat that if you knew you didn't like it?"

Vincent tried to make eye contact, but couldn't bring himself to face his brother. Still, he answered, "I didn't want to be..." he wanted to say rude, but the word didn't seem to have a pichu equivalent. Instead, he said, "mean." He brought his paw to his face once he realized his brother still couldn't understand him. Terrifyingly, the process of speaking in pichu had become so quick easy his mind didn't have time to intervene. The pichu language was quickly becoming as easy, if not easier than English.

Ignorant of Vincent's internal struggle, Peter asked, "Well what do you like? Lettuce? Berries? Apples?"

The same part of his mind that thought the ham revolting perked up at the last suggestion. Before he could stop himself, he was vigorously nodded his head while almost shouting, "Apples! I love apples!" Vincent was taken aback by his own actions. Before, he'd not cared too much for apples, but now the very thought of them brought as much joy as Christmas morning.

His eagerness must have been contagious, because Peter started smiling as well. "Which one? Lettuce?" Vincent shook his head. He knew he should fight his instincts, but the hunger in his gut made it hard not to relinquish control of his thoughts. "Berries?" His head shook again. A playful grin pulled across Peter's face as he chuckled, "An apple it is then," grabbing the ruined ham off the counter on his way to the chrome refrigerator.

Excitement as strong as his hunger welled up within Vincent as he thought of digging into his teeth into the apple, its taught skin giving way as he bit out a chunk of the delectable flesh. This hunger mixed with excitement made him so anxious to eat the fruit that when his brother put it in front of him, he practically tackled it, savoring every bite and moment. His mouth filled with flavor, making him devour it even faster. He couldn't help himself: the fruit was delectable. Even when he was no longer hungry, he continued to devour the fruit until all but the core and seeds were in his nearly bursting stomach.

He lay back, more than satisfied. He savored the taste that lingered in his mouth and the contentment that washed over him. His brother's cackling brought him out of his state, contentment replaced by embarrassment and contempt. How could he have let himself lose control like that? How could he convince his brother he was himself, much less that he used to be human if he acted like nothing more than an animal? Through self derision, he forced himself to stand up on two legs and face his brother.

He wracked his mind to try and communicate his gratitude to his brother, eventually deciding to say, "Thank you," and bow his head slightly.

This only caused his brother to chuckle even more. "You're really cute, Pichu." Vincent inhaled sharply, shock overcoming him. He immediately shook his head. Peter's expression went to one of slightly amused confusion as he asked, "What's wrong?"

Vincent thought a moment to try and figure out a way to tell his brother he wasn't a pichu. After a moment of wracking his brain, an idea popped into his head. He pointed to himself with one paw, spoke the syllables, "Pichu," and then shook his head. He repeated this until his brother eventually offered an interpretation.

"You don't want me to call you 'Pichu?'" Figuring this was about as close as he could get he nodded his head. "Well, what do you want me to call you?" Vincent wanted to scream. _I still can't tell him! I can't speak English!_ His despair was only momentary, as he quickly had what he thought to be a brilliant idea. _I could write it down!_ He held up his left paw and then mimed writing on it with his left paw. Peter was visibly confused, but still tried his best to guess. "You want me to call you paw?" Vincent shook his head and continued his mime-writing. Had he known he'd face this language barrier, he would have spent much more time practicing charades.

He continued the motion, and Peter responded by guessing, "You... want to write it down?" Vincent eagerly nodded his head. He was about to do it! He would be able to tell his brother he was human! He couldn't contain his excitement as his brother went to grab some paper and a pencil, his jubilation coming out in a random expulsion of excited syllables. He wasn't sure what he said, but whatever he said was triumphant.

When Peter brought the materials and laid them before him, it was clear he was just as curious as Vincent was excited. Vincent eagerly grabbed the pencil and sat down on the paper, using both paws and his mouth to stabilize the pencil as he attempted to write. He pressed the lead down onto the paper only to realize his mind was blank. Excitement went to confusion as he tried his best to focus on the words he wanted to write. He knew what he needed to write, but the symbols he needed to write down were just out of the reach of his mind.

Dread overcame him as he tried harder and harder to remember how to write. He knew exactly what he needed to write. "I am Vincent." But he couldn't remember how to put those letters on paper. Dread quickly turned to panic. He couldn't write! How far had his mind already regressed after less than a day that he couldn't even write? No matter how hard he wracked his brain, he couldn't remember how to write. Abandoning his primary goal, he instead mentally pursued the most basic memory he had of letters, hoping to show his brother he at least knew more than an animal should. The memory was hazy, but he was able to remember the alphabet poster from Kindergarten. He thought about each letter in order, starting with "A."

He visualized what he could remember of the letter and then did his best to recreate it on the page. Even though it was scraggly and messy, it was clearly an "A." He was about to start on "B" when he heard the front door slam open and shut, a shrill voice crying out, "Peter! Vincent! Are you there?"

Peter immediately answered, "I'm here," then looked to the mouse and said, "Keep writing, this is amazing!" before running towards his mother. Vincent knew he should do as his brother said, but couldn't help but follow after his brother. After all, it was his mother! Be it the innate instinct of a son to seek out his mother, the curiosity of his pichu side, the infantilization of his psyche because of his current form, or some combination of the three, he needed to see his mommy. Without a second thought, he discarded the pencil, the possible solution to his current problem all but forgotten in his mind.

He easily hopped off the counter, not a moment's thought given to how high the counter was from the ground comparative to his size. All four paws hit the ground running, his paws skidding on the tile for a moment before they caught enough friction to propel him forward. He sprinted around a sharp turn to see his mother and brother embracing. He ran to their feet, hoping to be a part of this reunion.

This hope was squashed by the shrieks of his mother. He immediately dug his paws into the ground beneath him to stop. He pivoted around to run directly away from the horrendous noise, fear overwhelming love. He skittered behind the wall dividing the living room and kitchen, hoping to protect himself from the shrieking monster. Whilst shuddering in fear, he heard his mother shriek, "A rat! A big, yellow rat! One of those monsters is in our house! It could kill us!"

Fear, embarrassment, rejection, and grief all came together and came out of Vincent in the form of tears. His mother, his own mother had called him a rat! A monster! While he was cowering and crying in the corner, Peter held his mother tight and consoled her. "Don't worry, it's okay! I know a lot of the creatures are dangerous, but I've been helping this one out, and he seems mostly passive. I found him in Vincent's-"

At the mention of her son's name, she pulled away and looked Peter in the face, almost shouting, "Where's Vincent?" the yellow mouse all but forgotten.

Peter's face contorted to an expression of uncertain grief. He couldn't meet his mother's gaze as he mumbled, "I'm... not sure. He hasn't been picking up his phone, and when I went to his room to try and find him... it wasn't his room anymore. The only thing still there was his computer. The rest of his stuff was just… office equipment." Peter's eyes began to water as he continued. "Worst of all, I saw some of his clothes on the floor. But I didn't see anything else that belonged to him. I-I think he was... I think he's..." he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence, but he didn't have to.

His mother already held him tightly, tears of her own falling into his shirt. As the two cried in each other's arms, Vincent had been able to regain his own composure enough to convince himself to come out of his corner. He had been able to pick up the last slivers of the conversation, which contained enough information for him to know why his family was crying: they thought he was gone. Part of him wanted to go over there and join in their embrace(something about such intimate and compassionate contact appealing to his instinct) but he knew the best thing he could do would be to let his family know he was still alive.

He turned back to go to the sheet of paper he had previously attempted to write on. He ran on all fours towards it and forced himself not to stutter as he leapt onto the counter. He was terrified of the immense height from the ground, but he was on the counter before he could have second thoughts. His eyes searched for and quickly found the piece of paper he had been scribbling on, as well as the pencil right next to it.

He grabbed the pen and sat on the page, holding the pencil with both paws and stabilizing it with his mouth. He looked at the symbols that were already on the page and tried desperately to think of what they were. He knew they were used to write messages, but the name of these characters seemed to be just out of his reach. He began to write down the letters he had already written down, and as he wrote each letter, the next floated into his mind. He would write a letter, scoot over to the right, and the next letter would just pop into his head. He continued this until he had the whole collection of symbols written down on the page.

He stepped back to look at the mass of characters he had sketched. His penmanship was worse than that of a grade-schooler, but the letters were recognizable nonetheless. As he admired his work, the word floated into his mind. He felt the same sensation he'd felt before of his mind lurching. He was terrified for a moment before he realized this lurch resulted in a greater re-understanding of English. He instantly recognized each letter, its name, and the sound it was intended to produce.

Eagerly he sat and started trying to write down his name. This task took more brain power than any math problem, puzzle, riddle, or challenge he had ever faced before. He had to stay completely within his mind, because the moment he tried to speak his name, his mind would convert the sounds and syllables to their pichu equivalents. It took him almost a minute to remember his name started with "V" and not a "Pi." Though this was discouraging, the next letter took only half that, and the next letter half that. After what felt like more time than a state mandated standardized test, he stood proudly above his own name. He didn't care that the penmanship was horrible. The important thing was that he could write! And it was (mostly) legible!

He spat out the pencil and leaned down, grabbing the paper with his teeth, careful to avoid damaging his name or any of the other letters on the page. As he approached the edge of the counter, he was overwhelmed with fear. He was so high! Terror pushed him back, his heartbeat and breath quickening with every moment. He knew he had leapt that distance only moments ago, but he couldn't fathom how! In his current state, that distance might as well have been the grand canyon!

He loosened his jaw, letting the paper fall to the counter. He closed his eyes and began to take control of his breathing. He slowed it to as normal a pace as he could manage. _In...outinout...inout...inout...in...out...inout...in...out...in...out. You're okay, you're fine. You've jumped this distance before, it won't be hard at all. You'll be fine._ He forced himself forward, slowly so he could keep control of his thoughts. He pushed the paper forward and off the counter with his forepaw it disappearing from his view as it fell. He took a few more steps, each smaller than the last. He did all he could to not look down, but couldn't help stealing a few glances. There was no fooling himself. He was high.

He stood on his hind paws and edged closer and closer to the edge until he could feel it under his paws. One more deep breath in. One long exhale. Without letting himself think about it, he let one paw fall over the edge, and gravity did the rest. Before he could manage to reorient himself, the ground smashed into him, forcing the air out of his lungs and a few tears to leak out of his eyes. He clenched his teeth against the pain and forced himself to stand, walking over to the sheet of paper and grabbing it with his teeth again. He did his best to walk, but both a bruised paw and gigantic paper slowed him down greatly.

Despite his slow pace, he still eventually made it to the other end of the kitchen and turned to see his mother and brother still holding each other tightly, both sobbing. He rushed as quickly as he could over to them, which was still remarkably slow, and stood up on two paws once he was right next to his brother. He tried to get his attention, but Peter ignored him completely. Just as Vincent's attempts began to get more desperate, the doorbell rang. Immediately after came frantic knocking and then another ring of the doorbell.

Vincent wasn't able to move out of the way of Peter's foot in time, resulting in him getting kicked across the ground and dropping the paper. He rolled over a few times, eventually resting on his back. He rolled over onto his stomach and stood, using his right forepaw to rub his head. When he saw his brother just walking away from him he shouted, "Hey! That hurt!" Of course his brother didn't respond, and didn't even notice.

Instead, he saw his mother kneel down to his level. His anger quickly changed to instinctual fear. He took a few tentative steps back. His mother didn't seem to notice his fear at all, but just asked, "Are you okay?"

Vincent nodded his head, anger and pain instantly forgotten once instinct had decided his life was in danger. His mother's face, which should have been at least marginally comforting to him, seemed to contort and pervert into the face of a predator. He was glad to see his brother rushing back to the two of them. Their mother's attention shifted to Peter, and she stood to face him. "Who's at the door?"

Peter responded almost before she had even finished the question, "That was Alex. Something's wrong with Christopher. He found him collapsed at school. I'm going to go over and see if I can do anything to help." No verbal objection came from his mother, but her countenance made it clear she wasn't happy with the plan. "I have to at least try and help."

She reluctantly agreed. Vincent stood next to his brother, ready to follow him out the door. He had immediately recognized the two names Peter had mentioned. Vincent didn't have many friends, but Christopher was definitely his closest, and Alex was Christopher's older brother. Alex and Peter weren't as close as Christopher and Vincent, but the two knew each other fairly well. Because of his relationship with Christopher, Vincent felt almost a duty to go see his friend. He probably couldn't do anything to help, but he was his best friend! He had to at least see him!

Just as Peter was about to walk off, his mother mumbled, "I'll stay here. Just in case..."

Peter looked her in the eyes and nodded, then walked to the door. Vincent followed close behind, doing his best to keep up with Peter. Despite walking almost perfectly in step with him, Peter didn't notice Vincent at all. It wasn't until Alex pointed to Vincent and said, "Uh, hey. You've got a shadow."

Peter looked down to Vincent, and Vincent met his gaze. "Oh, uh, hey." Peter knelt down to Vincent's level and said, "I need you to stay here. My mom will take care of you," in a tone so patronizing it almost made Vincent vomit.

Vincent vehemently shook his head, a pichu, "No!" escaping his lips. Not only did his intellect want to go see his friend, but his instinct couldn't imagine spending any more time with that loud predator. Had he been paying attention to his thoughts, Vincent would have been appalled at how he had just thought of his mother, but he gave no more heed to his instinct's input than he did the fact that his sight was grayscale.

Peter opened his mouth to further his objection, but instead just sighed. "All right, you can come with. Just be careful." Vincent nodded his head and started walking forward, but his brother's hand swooped down and lifted him up before he could object. At least not verbally, but his body shot out many objections in the form of random spurts of electricity. Peter shouted out, "Hey! Stop that!" Before Vincent could tell what was happening, Peter was holding him by the scruff of his neck, orienting him so they were exactly face to face. Peter used his other hand to hold out a scolding finger. "No electricity! It hurts me and it's dangerous! You have to be careful!"

Vincent averted his gaze, mumbling, "I don't have any control over it. It just happens. It hurts me, too." Shame evolved into anger and indignation as he faced Peter and said, "What did you expect would happen? You just pick me up with no warning at all? Do you have any idea how scary that is?" He knew and understood very well that his brother couldn't understand his words, but still felt compelled to say them. Something about being a pichu just made it so much... easier to express his feelings. Before, when he was a human, he would do his best to conceal his emotions in day-to-day conversation, reluctantly explaining them if the subject came up at best, or diverting the conversation entirely at worst. As a pichu, however, he'd express his emotions faster than he could think: it just felt like the natural thing to do.

Even though there was a clear language barrier, Peter very clearly heard the anger in both the mouse's expression and the tone of his words. "If you don't keep your electricity under control, you can't come with me. Are you going to, or not?"

Vincent clenched his teeth. He wanted to explain to his brother he had almost no control over his electricity whatsoever: it just seemed to do whatever it wanted. But, he was miraculously able to hold his tongue and nod his head. At this, Peter brought him down and cradled him in his arms. Like a baby. Vincent's blood boiled even more at this, but with no way of telling his brother why he was angry, he just sat in his brother's arms, knowing he couldn't do anything about it.

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A/N: Thanks for reading! If you loved it, or hated it, I'd love to hear your feedback! Tell me what you loved! Tell me what you hated! All of it's helpful to me! If you do decide to review, tell me if you'd prefer me to respond to you via PM or in the first part of the next chapter. I try to respond to every review, but if yours slipped through the cracks, shoot me a PM and tell me.

P.S. The chapter titles aren't set in stone, they're just me screwing around with music theory terms that seem to fit the situation.


	6. Major Sixth

A/N: With more delays than ever before, chapter six. Turns out, high school makes the entirety of everything seem utterly pointless. Or maybe that's just my depression. Who knows! Regardless, here it is: Chapter Six: Major Sixth

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The body was stiff and nearly motionless, only a random shake or seize every few minutes showing any signs of life. Vincent held out a paw in hopes to feel the warmth of his friends body as some sort of proof his friend was still alive. "And you found him like this at school?"

"Yeah, he was collapsed, backpack on top of him. It looked like he had been holding his head."

The warmth Vincent felt coming off his friend's body seemed exactly as it should be. Yet, this warmth only reached the surface of his fur and skin, quickly destroyed by the cold blood beating through his veins. "I'm so sorry." As his brother had carried him over to the house next door, Peter and Alex had talked about what had happened all across the town. Apparently, there had been a massive blast that engulfed the town and showed no sign of stopping at the city's limits. Buildings morphed, changed, or disappeared completely. Most people had disappeared, with the few remaining being mostly complete families with a few exceptions.

Vincent was overcome with guilt. His actions had destroyed hundreds, thousands, millions of lives, and seeing his comatose friend cut at his veins. His cold heartbeat began to pump tears out of his eyes. He fell back into a sitting position, holding his head in his hands. Tears began to pour out, and he gave no attempt to stop them. It wasn't his instinct that was overcome with guilt. It was his humanity.

Tears flowed out of his eyes, the fur on his paws becoming immediately soaked. He destroyed the town he'd lived in since his birth. He murdered hundreds of people. He was a monster. Being so engulfed in his grief, he didn't notice he'd been scooped into Peter's hand. Even when he did notice, he didn't mind being cradled. Be it his childish need for compassionate touch, or his human need for comfort, some part of him desperately needed his brother's embrace. He went from crying into his paws into his brother's shirt. Peter's hand caressed the back of his head as he cooed, "What's wrong little guy?"

Vincent gave no attempt to speak. Not because he knew he wouldn't be understood, but because he had no idea what he would say. But even if he knew what to say, would he have the courage to? How could he admit to all this? If anyone knew that this had been caused by him, he had no doubt in his mind that he would be cast out of society, abandoned by his loved ones, sent off into the wild to be eaten by a predator.

"Does it think he's dead?" Alex offered.

"I don't even know that he has a concept of death. And even if he did, I've never seen an animal brought to empathetic tears. This little creature's been full of surprises."

"All these monsters are surprises." Alex's tone bled with disgust.

"Chill out. Some of the animals are dangerous, but I'm sure for every dangerous one, there's one as harmless as this little guy."

"You say he's harmless, but you had to make him promise not to use electricity before you let him come with you. That thing could probably seriously hurt you, me, or even Chris!"

Peter gave his friend a harsh glare before shifting his attention back to the crying mouse. "Come on, little guy. It's all right. He's not dead, he's just... sleeping." Somehow, even though Peter's voice was still loud and low as ever, it was extremely soothing to Vincent. Perhaps it was because it was his humanity that needed comforting, or perhaps it was because his body was becoming increasingly more comfortable with humans and human contact. Regardless of the reasons behind it, his tears ebbed away until they became little more than an occasional sniffle.

Peter placed him back onto the bed, softly asking, "Are you okay now?" Vincent nodded his head, using one hand to wipe a few remaining tears from his face. He shared one last glance with his brother before he awkwardly shuffled around and stumbled over to his friend's comatose body. He reached out a paw to feel Chris's body heat once more so he could make himself certain his friend was alive. Chris's head was about as big as his entire body was now. He chuckled despite himself: even though he was normally extremely sensitive, Chris was the one person that could help him laugh at himself. One of the more consistent jokes Chris would tell, in more ways than Vincent could recall, was how much taller than Vincent he was.

This modicum of joy was robbed from him by Alex's harsh and accusatory voice. "Are you sure that thing's not going to hurt Chris?" Vincent flinched, but he didn't turn around to face his prosecutor. There was no point. He had no way of voicing his defense in any way Alex could understand. He just stood next to his friend, looking for any movement at all.

Peter spoke up for him. "Look at the little guy! Does he really look violent to you?"

Vincent heard no response from Alex, and so continued to examine his friend's face for any sort of movement. The only motion he saw was his friend's breath and Peter's hand going to rest on Chris's forehead. "He doesn't have any sort of temperature. He looks fine."

"Well he's clearly not!" As his brother removed his hand, Vincent put both of his up against Chris's face.

He began to push on his head to try and wake him up, mumbling, "Wake up. Please, please wake up." His pushing became frantic and his voice followed suit. "Please! Please wake up!" Tears began to flow out of his eyes once again. He almost screamed when his brother pulled him back, but he didn't take his eyes off his friend.

"Hey, hey! No!" He didn't acknowledge his brother's reprimanding. Chris's eyes had opened. Vincent's heart skipped a beat.

He turned frantically to his brother and almost shouted, "Look, look! He's awake! I woke him up!" as he frantically pointed. He shook off his brother's loosening grip and ran up to Chris. His eyes were blank, his face was exhausted despite having just woken up.

Vincent stepped back as Chris turned his head. His eyes shifted over to Alex. "Alex? What are you... why is everything so loud?"

"What do you mean?" Alex ran over and knelt down by his little brother. Chris's gaze didn't follow. Instead, it fell on Peter and then, confusedly, Vincent.

The two shared eye contact for a moment, Chris's face becoming more and more confused as they stared at each other. Almost hesitantly, he opened his mouth and asked, "Vincent?"

Vincent's eyes shot open and his heart began to beat out of his chest. He squeaked, "Yes! Yes, it's me!"

Chris recoiled and clenched his eyes shut, mumbling, "So loud," before once more going comatose.

Vincent ran up to his face once more. Chris knew! He had no idea how Chris knew, but somehow he did! He felt his excitement well up within him, filling and flowing through his veins. It wasn't until his cheeks shot out electricity and he felt the back of Alex's hand smack him off the bed and across the room that he realized what that energy had really been. He lay sprawled on his back, too disoriented to move, think, and barely able to breathe. Before he could recover, a hand grabbed him by the throat and Alex's face was suddenly inches from his own.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't squirm his way out of Alex's hand. He couldn't think of any way to get out of this. His vision grew dark. He could hear that Alex was screaming, but he couldn't understand the words. Moments before he lost consciousness, he felt the grip release and moments later his body slammed into the ground. He gasped desperately for air, his throat throbbing with each pant.

Instinct and intellect for the first time seemed to be in agreement: he had to run. His vision gradually cleared, and along with it came immense pain. Yet, despite the pain and fear overwhelming him, he didn't feel the need to cry. Instead, he began to feel his blood boil with adrenaline. He shot onto all fours with newfound vigor and scurried underneath the bed he was on top of moments ago, getting as close as he could to the wall and middle of the bed to make sure he couldn't get grabbed by anyone.

His cheeks and body filled with electricity, but the electricity being produced felt different: though it was on the edge of his cheeks ready to be released, he had it under complete control. He felt his mind squelch as he grew a greater understanding of his body's electrical abilities. His humanity was too overcome with adrenaline to fight back. His attention went to his ears and he began to listen to try and figure out what the two humans were doing to try and capture him.

"Stop screaming at me! Stop talking! It's killing my head!" Vincent was confused. The voice complaining about everyone screaming was Chris's. But Chris was the only one screaming. "No I'm not! Why won't you three listen to me? You're yelling so loud I can hear you in my skull!" Vincent became even more confused. It was almost as if Chris had responded directly to his thoughts. Not only that, but there were only two humans in the room.

 _Does he know I'm in here?_

"Of course I know you're in here Vince! You're talking so loud it's killing me!" The adrenaline rushing through his veins evaporated. His mind stopped. He couldn't have heard that. He didn't hear that. That wasn't true. He was hallucinating. He was dreaming. He was the only one that heard that.

But he wasn't. Finally, another voice spoke. It was Peter. He spoke in a hushed voice. "Chris, calm down. No one's screaming except you, and Vincent... he's... he's not in the room."

 _I have to be going insane. That's it. Transforming drove me insane. My human mind couldn't cope with being stuffed into this body, and now it's self-destructing._

There was silence for a moment, but then Chris's voice returned, now almost whispering. "I can hear you... in my head... he... Vincent? You're not crazy. What do you mean transforming? Where are you?" Vincent couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Regardless, he felt compelled to respond. His mind began to convert what he was going to say when Chris interrupted. "How could you fit under my bed?"

 _How can you respond to things before I say them? Can you hear me think?_

Despite not expecting a response, he got one. "I can hear you talk. Are you not-"

A confused and frustrated Alex interrupted both of them. "Who are you talking to Chris? No one's talking to you. Are you... hearing voices in your head?"

Chris responded to Alex with indignation. "What? No. I'm not just hearing voices in my head. I hear you guys. You, Peter and Vincent."

Vincent recoiled when he heard his brother scream, "Vincent isn't here! He disappeared, just like at least half the population! Shut up about Vincent!" He could hear his brother begin to sob.

Vincent desperately wanted to go and console his brother, but fear held him back. _He wouldn't understand you anyway. He can't understand pichu._

Chris's next words were shocked. "Wh-what? How did half the... how did...Vincent... disappear? I can hear him as clearly as I can hear you."

 _I have to go out there. If Chris can really hear my thoughts, he should be able to recognize that it's me when I come out from under the bed._ As he began to take tentative steps forward, he heard Chris begin to talk.

"Can y'all not hear that? It's clearly Vincent! He said he's coming out from under the bed so I can... recognize him."

Vincent ran out from under the bed before either of the two could respond to what Chris had just said. Before he could even look up, a hand wrapped around his throat again. He struggled and squirmed as much as he could, but to no avail. He recoiled to Alex shouting, "What did you do to my brother? I know it was you!"

Vincent looked at Alex with pleading eyes. He shook his head violently to try and say he hadn't done anything, but Alex clearly wasn't backing down. Alex opened his mouth to speak again, but a fist hit his face and blasted him across the room, forcing him to drop Vincent and clutch his jaw.

The impact with the ground Vincent was expecting was stopped by Chris's hands. A breath of relief became one of excitement as Chris brought him up to eye level. Without thinking, he shouted, "Chris! It's me! I'm Vincent!"

Chris's face was completely blank, eyes opened wide. Without a word, he turned around, put Vincent on the bed, and then crumpled into a fetal position mumbling, "I've gone completely insane."

Vincent hopped off the bed and started towards his friend, but Alex knelt in his way. For once, Alex's attention wasn't focused on killing him, but instead on comforting Christopher. "What's wrong?"

Vincent carefully went around Alex, doing his best not to get his attention. "I... that... the pichu... I heard... I thought I heard it talk... it sounded like Vincent but... didn't at the same time. I heard two voices. One I heard like normal, the other was in my head. It said... it said it was Vincent." This increased Vincent's frustration tenfold. He was about to shout out that he really was Vincent, but Christopher interrupted this tirade. "Even now! The voice is shouting that it really is Vincent! Where is Vincent?"

Vincent's pathetically desperate, "I'm right here!" was completely ignored.

Instead, he saw Peter kneel on Chris's opposite side. "We... we don't know where Vincent is... a lot of people-"

"Have disappeared with no explanation," Chris interrupted. In response to Peter's bewilderment, Chris explained, "I can hear you in my head before you talk. I... I think I can hear your thoughts." Alex opened his mouth to respond, but Chris interrupted with, "Chris, don't be ridiculous. You can't just suddenly hear our thoughts, that's crazy. That's what you were about to say! Right?"

Alex, surprised, sputtered out, "Word for word," but before he'd even finished speaking, Chris looked back at Vincent.

Before he could react, Chris had harshly lifted him up by the torso and pointed a finger directly in his face. Chris seemed completely unfazed by the stray bolts of electricity as he nearly screamed, "Say something only Vincent would know!" Jarred, Vincent couldn't respond before Chris shook him and shouted, "Something! Anything!"

Too scared to think of any decent answer he just sputtered out, "My full name is Vincent Vandergrift!"

This earned him another shake and a loud shout. "No! Anyone could know that! Tell me something Vincent knows but I don't! Tell me... tell me..." his gaze popped around the room until it landed on Peter. "Tell me Peter's favorite color!"

Terrified of another shaking, he thought as hard as he could before quickly coming out with the answer, "Dark blue! Really dark but not... not..." his heart raced as he realized pichu didn't have a word for navy. While this made perfect sense (it's very rare that any sort of rodent species would become evolved enough to require any sort of military force, especially not on the water) he shrunk away in fear of another shake. It didn't come.

Instead, Chris whispered, "Vincent? Is that... is that really you?"

Without any hesitation, he shouted, "Yes! It's me!"

"How... how did this happen? How did you... Why can I..." These fragmented questions brought out a flurry of emotions from Vincent as all the events of the past day flew through his mind, giving him no ability to speak. Instead, all the pain, fear, uncertainty, loneliness, and grief came out at once as he once again began to cry. But these tears gained a hint of joy to them when Chris pulled him into a tight embrace and whispered in his ear, "Don't worry, you're not alone anymore. I'll help you through this somehow. Whatever the hell's happened we'll face together."

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A/N: FINALLY! Bizarrely enough, even though these characters and situations are almost completely in my control, I still feel satisfaction when I see them happy. Also, we've officially caught up to the original story. It's uncharted territory from here on out. For better or for worst, here we go!

And, as always, if you liked the story, I'd love to hear what you liked about it! If you hated it, I'd love to hear what you hate about it! If you don't think I deserve a review, PM me! I try to respond to any an all reviews. If I missed yours, please let me know.


	7. Dominant Seventh

Whelp, it's been forever, and this may be the shortest chapter with the least amount of things happening. I'll do my best to upload better.

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The warmth of his friend's embrace combined with the relief of his identity finally being known gave him so much joy he felt like he could fly across the room. Yet, following suit with the past day's events, this moment of joy didn't last long. Suddenly, the warm embrace left him and he fell to the cold floor. Almost instantly, he recovered and looked up to Chris to see Alex grabbing him by the neck of his shirt, an odd mixture of anger, worry, and a brand new bruise on his face. "Stay away from that thing! It's a monster! It'll hurt you!"

Chris didn't hesitate with his response, instantly shouting out, "No he's not! He doesn't want to hurt me! He's Vincent!" Vincent started to run over to defend his friend when a hand picked him up by the scruff of his neck and pulled him into a tight embrace.

He looked up to see Peter had grabbed him. Sparks shot off his cheeks as Peter forced himself between the two ready-to-start-fighting brothers. His right hand busy holding Vincent, he used his left to push Alex away from Christopher, shouting, "Stop, stop, stop! Stop fighting! Let Chris explain himself. I'm sure he has something to say, but he's just confused because of… everything" Peter then turned to Chris, prompting him to speak with a nod of his head.

Chris pulled his angry gaze off his brother and began to explain. "This sounds crazy, but please just give what I'm about to say a chance. There are... a few layers to this whole thing. First of all, ever since the shockwave hit me, I could hear other people's voices in my head. At first, they were so loud I couldn't take it and I think my mind just shut down from the pressure. I think that's why I fainted. I didn't understand what was happening until just a few minutes ago. I can hear people's thoughts."

Both Alex and Peter had equally dumbfounded and confused expressions. Peter was the first to speak, asking, "Do you... you can't expect us to just believe that. That's just...just-"  
"Crazy." Chris interrupted. "As, or more crazy than the fact that you're holding a fictional mouse in your hand?"

Peter thought for a moment, then argued, "Just because weird stuff has happened doesn't mean we're going to believe any bizarre claim anyone makes. If you can hear our thoughts, you have to have a way to prove it. Maybe I could-"

"Think of a number from one to ten-thousand and I guess the number is three-hundred and fourteen?"

Peter stopped in his tracks. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't find words to speak. Unfortunately, Alex was able to find words to speak. "What is going on?"

Peter kept his eyes on Chris, but told Alex, "He... guessed the number. And… everything else."

"What?" Alex sputtered. "That doesn't make any sense! Are you really telling me he's psychic?"

Vincent, desperate to help his friend and, in turn, help himself, shouted out, "He is!"

Unfortunately, but understandably, the other boys barely acknowledged him. Peter only gave him half a glance as he decided, "Okay, for now, we'll take your word for it. Too much has happened in the past few hours too… I just… it's not worth fighting over. You said there were… multiple layers to what you had to say. What's the next layer?"

Chris passed an awkward glance to Vincent, and then began to stare at the floor. "This… is where it gets weird."

"Oh, because you being telepathic wasn't weird enough?" Alex shouted.

Chris did his best to ignore his brother and just continued on. "Just trust me that I can do what I've said. Please." He took a breath and then began to explain. "So, when I woke up, I heard three people's thoughts. Yours, Alex's, and please believe me on this, Vincent's."

"From where? Where would you have heard Vince's voice from? He's not here!" Alex interrupted again.

"Yes I am! I'm right here!" Vincent shouted, and for once, his brother and Alex acknowledged him.

Chris took this opportunity to say, "Him." Before Alex or Peter could interrupt him, he continued, "I can hear Vincent's thoughts coming from that pichu. That pichu is Vincent."

While the shock and confusion was still evident on Peter and Alex's faces, Vincent pointed at Chris and nodded his head, squeaking in agreement.

The room was completely silent. Bewilderment blasted the air. Alex continued to shout at his brother, but that was equivocal to silence for Vincent. He and Peter were sharing perfect eye contact. Slowly, Peter knelt down and placed Vincent on the carpet.

Vincent forced himself to keep his bipedal pose, doing his best to prove his humanity. Peter began to speak, but no words came out. Vincent almost exploded at the anticipation of what was going to come out of his brother's mouth. After what felt like an eternity, Peter sputtered, "Vincent?"

Immediately, Vincent threw his head up and down, shouting out, "Yes! Yes, it's me!" with a beaming smile, not caring that his words weren't English: he knew his brother would understand what he said.

After a few more eternities, Peter asked, "H-how… What… How did this happen?"

Vincent's smile quickly fell into a guilt ridden and apologetic frown. His left arm cradled it's twin as if he had hurt it while he considered what he had done. He knew for a fact what happened was his fault, but how could he tell his brother that? Would his brother accept him for the monster he really was?

He was yanked from his thoughts as Peter stroked his head, cooing, "Hey, don't worry. Forget about it, it's fine." Vincent was both surprised and calmed by his brother's petting. His look of guilty uncertainty melted into one of calmed bliss. Even though the slimy skin was alien to his body, this specific form of contact calmed him immensely. He was almost disappointed when his brother pulled his hand away and said, "I-I can't believe this."

Vincent grinned despite himself. "You can't believe it?" He gestured to his body as he squeaked, "You can't even imagine how I feel!"

Body language must have temporarily melted the language barrier, because Peter laughed and said, "Yeah, I guess you have it worse." His grin morphed into a sullen smile as he said, "I don't care what happened to you, or what you look like. You're my brother. No freak, transdimensional, logically questionable, absurd accident can change that. We might not be the same species right now, but we're still family."

Vincent was surprised to see tears welling up in his brother's eyes. He stumbled over to his brother's leg and hugged it, the closest he could do to a real embrace at his size, finding that tears were falling from his own eyes as well.

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I hope you liked that! If not, tell me what you disliked. If you liked it, I'd love to hear what you liked.


	8. Parallel Octaves

A/N: Wow, look at how fast that eternity happened. I'm still very much not done with this story, I just got sidetracked and forgot about it for a while. But, I'm back now.

* * *

Chris took a moment to hold his still throbbing head. His headache jumped from unbearable to terrible, each thought of the people around him hitting his skull like a ton of bricks, forcing him to be painfully aware of everyone else's mental state. Because of this, he realized that Vincent's thoughts had begun to slow tremendously. "Vince?" he called out, his headache making it hard for him to interpret the thoughts of his friend. "Vince, you all right?"

Peter looked up to Chris confusedly. "What do you mean? Why isn't he all right?"

Chris knelt down to get closer to Vince as he explained, "His thoughts are... slower." He tapped Vince's head a few times, causing the boy-turned-mouse to look up with drowsy eyes. Vince let go of his brother's leg and looked up to Chris, rubbing his eyes.

"Yeah? What..." he seemed to be having trouble keeping his head up. "What'd you say?" Without thinking much of it, he fell back into a sitting stance. Chris had to stifle a laugh. He'd almost been worried about his friend, but seeing him in this near stupor made him realize there wasn't any threat: Vince was tired.

A smirk curled up the left side of Chris's face. "Tired, bud?"

Vince seemed shocked by the question. "I... shouldn't be?" He shook his head to try and stay awake. "I woke up just little while ago, not too long." Chris couldn't help but reach a hand out and pet the little guy: he just seemed so cute. For a moment, Vince's face seemed to be drenched in euphoria, but it quickly changed to frustration as he shook his head and pushed on Chris's hand. He looked up with a hurt expression. "Don't do that! I'm..." keeping his thoughts straight kept becoming harder and harder. "I'm not a pet. I'm..."

"Sorry." Chris interrupted, pulling his hand away and putting on a smirk. "You're just so cute!" he teased. He vaguely noticed some thoughts that seemed to be an attempt at rebuttal, but none of them became developed before Vince fell over and closed his eyes, curling up into a furry, yellow ball. For a moment, this perfectly animalistic behavior disturbed Chris. The movements... didn't have any remnant of the person Vince should have been.

After being silent for so long, Peter couldn't help but shout out, "What's happening?"

This shocked Chris out of his introspection. He put a finger up to his lips as he explained, "He was tired, so he went to sleep." He couldn't shake the worry plaguing him about his friend.

"Tired? Why?" Alex was just as confused as Chris, though for a different reason. He turned to Peter and asked "How long has it been since he slept?"

"It hasn't been too long. He fell asleep just a bit after I found him. It must have been, I don't know, an hour ago." He absentmindedly stroked the yellow ball of fur as he thought. "Well, pichu are kind of like kids. I don't know if aging works the same, it's just my best guess."

Alex scratched his head. "So, he's a baby?"

Peter shrugged. "I guess? The science is still out on fictional, electric mice." His voice took a caustic, hurt tone. Alex would have asked what was wrong if it hadn't been blatantly obvious. Peter's expression popped from bad to worse, a worse thought jumping into his mind. "How do I... should I even tell her?"

Alex was lost, but Chris had the advantage of hearing Peter's thoughts. Unfortunately, telepathy didn't help him find an answer. He at least had an idea. "I think it's up to Vincent." He received a raised eyebrow from Peter, so he began to explain. "Well... it's Vincent's situation. He's the one... _this_ happened to. He should at least have a say."

Peter's eyes gained a thoughtful tone for a few moments before he leaned back and sighed, "Guess we gotta wait 'till he wakes up, then." The relief of procrastination clearly had little to offer. His eyes shifted back to his brother, maintaining that same thoughtful gaze. "What do you think he's dreaming?"

* * *

 _Hello? Is it you again?_ Confusion surrounded Vincent. He didn't hear a voice, he thought it. A vague memory of this happening before floated around his mind, but evaded his perception.

 _Who are you? What's happening?_ No time passed before he heard a response.

 _It's me! Remember? Are you still Vincent?_ He had trouble remembering.

 _I... am... Yes?_ He strained his mind to be certain. _Yes... Yes! I'm Vincent._ The vague memory of this situation approached his consciousness at a meandering pace. A painful explosion of awareness overcame him, along with the image of the orb in his room. A few memories shocked back into his mind. _Short Circuit? You still there?_

 _Yes!_ The answer came immediately. _Why are you always ignoring me? You act like bad things are okay, and big things aren't scary._

 _You're conscious when I am?_ He couldn't help a bit of guilt hitting the back of his mind.

He could tell Short Circuit didn't know what to say, since he didn't immediately respond. _I'm awake... but I can't move. I can only think. Sometimes I help move, but usually I can't._

Vince thought for a moment how best to respond. _I can't hear you when I'm awake. I... I feel strong emotions, and I think that might be you, but I really can't... understand you._ The more time Vincent spent in this state, the more he realized how comparatively easily he could think. When awake, his thoughts felt... cramped. It didn't take much thought for him to figure out why. He couldn't help but wonder how much being in that state would have long term effects on his mind.

Be it fortunate or unfortunate, his time to consider such concepts got cut short. _You're leaving again? Can you come back soon?_ He didn't know what Short Circuit meant until his eyes opened and he saw the black and white room. He felt some panic creep into his mind when he didn't immediately see anyone around him. He quickly hopped onto all fours, shaking off a cloth that he didn't remember being on him, to try and get a better view of the area, hoping he'd see someone. He didn't.

"Hello?" He called out, not hearing any response. Being in the middle of the room only heightened his feeling of isolation and fear, so he started walking towards the wall. He didn't know why the wall seemed so much safer, he just knew he'd rather be hugging the wall than in the middle of the room. Stepping against the wall didn't bring a bunch of comfort, but it brought enough. After getting right next to it, he put a paw against the wall and stood up on his hind paws. He looked around the room to try and see some sign of life, or at least a sign as to where everyone else went.

He felt a bit stupid when he saw the partially open door: the idea that people had used a door to leave a room should have come to him sooner. For a moment, he didn't mind nobody being around. However, his body's need for protection and safety vastly overpowered his pride, so he quickly dropped to all fours and began scampering towards the door. As he approached, he began to hear mumbled words. A mixture of relief and excitement washed over him, so he ran towards the door that memory told him led to the living room.

"...Yeah, the destruction's crazy out there. Any cars that didn't just vanish slammed into whatever was closest." The words stopped him in his tracks. They were talking about the destruction. _The destruction that's your fault._ He stopped walking. Alex kept talking. "Weirdly enough, we were lucky. We didn't die."

"Yeah, definitely. Luckiest people on Earth. Chris has a perpetual headache and my brother's a rat, but sure. We're lucky." The room was silent, making it the perfect environment for Vincent to soak in self-hatred. The fact that his brother called him a rat took a backseat to his massive amounts of guilt. _How many people did I kill?_ His mind became completely invaded by thoughts of shame. It didn't take long for him to push back into a sitting position, misery bringing him to tears.

Being so immersed in his own self-hatred, he didn't notice anyone approaching until Chris tapped him on the head. "What's wrong?" Vince began to panic. _I can't tell him, I can't let him know what I did. He'd hate me_.

He grasped at the nearest thought for an idea. "I... nobody was... I was alone, and I got scared." Chris wouldn't believe him. He knew it. He couldn't even make eye contact, his voice quivered, every sign that he lied came to his mind at the same time. Then, a much more incriminating fact came to mind. His cheeks let off a flurry of sparks at the realization. He glanced up to see Chris looking down on him with an expression mixed with confusion, amusement, and worry.

"It's okay, you're not alone anymore," Chris said, almost theatrically to the others in the room. Without giving Vincent a chance to have a say in the matter, Chris lifted him up by the scruff of his neck, whispering, "We'll talk later," in his ear before cradling him. Vincent hated being carried against his will, but didn't have any ability to complain. He could only watch as Chris brought him into the middle of the room, sat on the armchair, and just let Vince fall into his lap.

The view of Alex and Peter staring at him from the couch greeted him when he looked up. He quickly averted his gaze, sparks dancing off his cheeks. "What... What's going on?"

"We actually needed to ask you something," Chris said.

Vince awkwardly waddled half around in an attempt to face Peter, Chris and Alex at the same time. "What?"

This time, it was Chris's turn to avoid eye contact. "We... Uh... We wanted to know-er-ask..." He took a breath, trying to think of what to say. Peter beat him to it.

"Do you want Mom to know what happened?" Vince's eyes deflated.

He sat down and tilted his head, scratching behind his ears in his best attempt to think. _Is it selfish to say no?_ He thought, afraid to say it out loud. He remembered once again that Chris could hear his thoughts. Instead of being embarrassed, though, he looked up to Chris for guidance.

"It's up to you." He dropped his eyes back down, looking over the body he inhabited.

The memory of his mother screaming at the mere sight of him came to mind. He held up his paws to examine them, the words "big yellow rat" overtaking his thoughts. After a while, he dropped his hands, just staring at the fabric of Chris's pants. "She... I scare her like this. I look..." A few tears began to invade his vision. "She thinks I'm a monster." He felt Chris begin to stroke the top of his head, even though his pride wanted to push him away, he needed the emotional support.

"It's not you she doesn't like, she... she just doesn't know it's you," Chris said. Afterwards, the room remained quiet, Vince's faint whimpers the only organic sound. No one knew what to say.

Vince was about to say no when Peter spoke up. "What's the end game if we don't tell her?" Every one's eyes shifted from Vince to Peter. "We don't have any idea how long this is gonna last. We don't know what happened to cause this, and we don't know how to undo it. This could be..." Peter bit his lip before he finished, but everyone knew what he meant. "We might have to think long term." Silence soaked the room for what felt like an eternity. "It's up to you, but I think we should tell her."

Vince remained silent, staring at nothing in front of him. He didn't want his mom to know. He felt so exposed, so weak, so... shameful. _What if..._ "What if she doesn't love me?"

"He... He's worried she won't love him."

"Vince, that's ridiculous!" Peter yelled, causing Vince to instinctively hop on all fours and back into Chris. Seeing this, Peter softened his voice, but the condemnation remained. "You can't honestly believe she's not gonna love you because of this." Vince couldn't drag his eyes off the ground.

"I know you're right, but... I'm scared." After a moment for translation, silence once more soaked the room. After a while, Peter got out of his chair, and knelt in front of Vince.

"What's got you worried, bud?" He asked, reaching a hand out to pet Vince's head.

After a moment for thought, Vince said, "She... was so mean..." Realizing how infantile he sounded, he tried to reword what he needed to say. "I mean... When she first saw me... she screamed and..." tears started welling up in his eyes, "she called me a big, yellow, rat."

"She wasn't talking to you." Vince looked up at Peter, head tilted in confusion. "She didn't know you were her son. She just saw... your body." Vince dropped his gaze again, evidently still very nervous. Peter rubbed his head again and said, "I'll be there with you."

Vince kept silent, contemplating his own thoughts. He couldn't get his mother's desperate face out of his mind. He couldn't justify a reason not to tell her. After a minute of self convincing, he forced himself to say, "Okay." Of course, "chu" didn't mean anything to anyone else, but Chris's quick translation helped.

Vince felt another pat on his head, followed by a rubbing of his back and a scratching of his neck that made his spine tingle in the best way he could imagine. Feeling a fuzzy warmth emanating from the touch, he couldn't help but close his eyes as he rolled over onto his back hoping for some belly scratches as well. After a few moments of receiving no such stimulus, he opened his eyes to see a very confused Peter and Chris. The moment the realization struck him, he threw himself back on all fours, cheeks blasting out electricity. Unfortunately for him, many of the bolts landed on Chris, causing pain to jolt through the poor boy and making him jump up in response.

This near-involuntary action launched Vince across the room, causing his embarrassment to become panic as he flew through the air, slammed into the rug and skid a few feet before he bashed into the couch. Dread an pain shot through his veins, launching him onto all fours. The moment he looked up, he saw Peter, Chris and Alex rushing towards him out of worry. He didn't see worry. He didn't see his friends and brother. He saw predators. All the electricity in his body routed to his cheeks, his muscles tensed, two of them knelt down, he launched the electricity at them. No time passed between the attack and his turning on his heels before he ran away. He had no idea where he needed to run, he just needed to run away from the predators.

Two hands wrapping around his torso interrupted his mistake. Complete horror enveloped him. He tried to shoot more electricity, but nearly all of it had been used in his initial attack. Mind racing, he did all he could to think of another form of defense. Seeing open skin, he craned his neck to sink his teeth into it. He squirmed as much as he could with his teeth embedded into his attacker's skin. The monster's grip tightened, so he clenched his jaw harder. As he wriggled and shook, he began to hear the monster's voice. Instead of angered roaring, he heard what sounded like... cooing. His wriggling became no less frantic, but he tried listening to the voice more closely.

"...okay, it's fine don't worry it's okay it's fine don't worry it's me Chris..."

 _Chris? Chris?_ His mind began to turn, trying to remember the familiar name. A vague yet familiar image of a face. The voice... he'd heard it before. He'd talked to it before. It was... Chris. His wriggling lessened and lessened in intensity, and he began to loosen his jaw. He felt less threatened, but he didn't feel any less scared. "Put me down." He felt trapped. "Please just let me go, please put me down." He stopped squirming, but he couldn't stop shaking. "Please put me down." The creature's grip loosened, so he immediately went back to wriggling as hard as he could, resulting in the creature's grip tightening again.

"I will put you down if you don't run away." He stopped squirming, still had no control over the shaking. Every muscle in his body told him to run. "It's okay, I don't want to hurt you. Just don't run away, and I'll put you down." It occurred to him that the only way he'd be put down would be to agree to not running away.

 _Or convince him I won't._ "Okay, I won't run." The creature's grip remained unchanged. "Please put me down, I won't run." The grip still remained unchanged.

"You can't lie to me, Vince." A few obscenities he didn't remember he'd forgotten came to mind, and he realized he couldn't say any of them. "Vince, it's me, Chris. I don't want to hurt you, please don't run away. I'm not a monster, I'm not a creature, I'm your friend. It's me, Chris."

Some aspect of the twentieth time Chris said that began to convince him. _Chris doesn't hurt me... He... helps. Chris is nice._ He realized his racing heart, his short breath, his quick, simple thoughts. He tried to take control of his breath, but he couldn't: any time he tried to take a deep breath, he felt Chris's hands around him. "Please put me down, I'm scared, I won't run, please."

He didn't hear anything for what felt like eternity, his fear only deepening. "Okay, I'll put you down, just don't run away." Vincent frantically nodded his head, hoping desperately for freedom. His heart skipped as he felt Chris's grip loosen, hopping out of his friend's hands the second he could. He ran a few body lengths before turning on his heels to see Chris clutching his right hand with his left, Peter and Alex beside him. He would have felt guilty if he hadn't been so afraid.

Peter mumbled something about a napkin before running to the kitchen. Vince noticed a frightening amount of anger that Chris tried to hide, but couldn't very well. Fear and guilt came together, making Vincent feel a whole new version of terrible. His mental state only worsened as Chris began to approach, making him simultaneously want to run away from him and hide, as well as run toward him and beg for forgiveness. He decided to go with a compromise of standing there awkwardly still, avoiding eye contact by staring at the ground, sparing anxious glances up at his friend.

Eventually, Peter came back and began to bandage up Chris's hand. The more Vince calmed down, the more he realized what he'd done, the more guilty he felt. His glancing stopped and he began to absentmindedly paw at the ground. After a while, Chris began to approach Vince. Be it guilt, fear, or both, Vince wanted to hide. But he didn't. He kept still as he could, keeping his eyes glued to the floor. Even when Chris was kneeling directly in front of him, Vince didn't move. The silence was palpable. "You okay?" Vince instinctively flinched at the voice, hearing the volume before the content.

"I... I'm... sorry. I... was scared." Having no desire to look upward, Vince continued to study the carpet, pawing at it intermittently.

"He's back," Chris sighed, relief coming out on his breath. The other two boys must have been as confused as Vincent, because he began to explain. "When he was freaking out, he wasn't... thinking? Thoughts were happening, but they... weren't English." Moments ago, Vince had thought he couldn't possibly feel worse than he did at that moment. This statement had just proved his hypothesis wrong, helping him to find a brand new low for his emotional state.

Even with his weight distributed over four legs, standing became too hard. His hind-legs fell beside him, his front-legs falling around his head, his face buried into the carpet below him. Despite his best wishes, the carpet did not absorb his being. He wanted to sleep again. Not because of exhaustion, really just to escape his situation. Every other time he'd experienced emotional turmoil since he changed had resulted in tears, but this time was different. Rather than sad, he felt... confused. He'd experienced new fears, new joys, bizarre feelings about familiar situations. But he'd never lost control to this extent.

Did he hurt his friend? He knew he had. He wanted an excuse. Was it because of his form? Or did he just want to use that as an excuse? He had no idea. An older kind of fear consumed him, one not associated with his physical well-being. This old fear had much more impact on his human psyche. _He hates me._ The three boys were talking to each other, making Vince wonder if they'd notice him leaving. The thought of listening to what they said made his skin crawl. They were talking about how much of an animal he'd become, they were thinking that he's basically lost all vestige of his humanity already, they-

"Vince? You okay?" Chris's voice made him cringe. The last thing he wanted to be right now was noticed.

He nodded his head, or tried to: he didn't have much success with his muzzle buried into the carpet. "I'm fine." _Please don't put me back in the wild where I belong._

"V-what? Vince, what are you thinking?"

 _He can't understand your thoughts because you're not thinking in English because you're nothing more than a dirty-_

"Vince, stop!" The direct, loud tone halted his thoughts. "You're not an animal." Vince didn't respond. He didn't know how. At the moment, his mental capacity couldn't handle the idea that he'd lost his humanity. Even when he felt Chris's hands wrap around his torso, he remained motionless, defeat his only expression. A sudden shaking by Chris stopped his thinking, adding a layer of shock and confusion to his already damaged mental state. "Vince, you're blowing this out of proportion. You got scared, it's fine."

"People don't bite when they get scared!" A twinge of anger joined in with his confusion and fear. He noticed Peter and Alex standing behind Chris, a few minor scorch marks visible on them, only adding to Vince's guilt. "People don't shock! People don't run on all..." _no word for four_ "like I do! People don't-"

"You're not a human right now!" This latest shout came with another minor bout of shaking, making Vince make eye contact. "Right now, your body is very much not human, but your thoughts are still overwhelmingly human. If we can just keep that the same, we might be able to change you back. But we definitely can't if you lose yourself to defeatism. I don't care if you bite my hand off, as long as I can keep you."

Once again, Vince had no idea how to respond. He depreciated himself so much, he never knew what to do when people cared about him. One of the two sparks of electricity left in him bounced down his cheek, and his eyes looked down again. "Thanks." His relief and comfort greatened even further when Chris let him down, making him realize just how alien human touch felt. Carpet was only marginally better, but he couldn't think of a better alternative. "Do... do you think we can... can really change me back?" The eyes he used to look up to Chris simultaneously made it impossible to lie, and impossible to tell the truth. Despite being anatomically impossible, Chris was certain Vince's eyes had doubled in size.

Truly having no idea what he could say, Chris opted to avoid the question. "Before we try that, we need to tell your mom." This must have satisfied the boy, because he dropped his gaze and nodded his head. Vince had no level of excitement for telling his mother, but he knew he had to do it. Chris stood up, leaving Vince staring at his kneecaps. "Okay. Well, let's go."

* * *

The sun's rays fell through the forest canopy like a memory. Ampaw had started foraging in the early morning, but the only food he'd found had been to quell his own hunger, leaving nothing for the colony. He couldn't focus. The thought of his son overshadowed all he did. He'd disappeared only a few sun-cycles ago, but his scent had already been covered up by the crossing paths of various predators and prey to the point where he couldn't follow it anywhere. He knew his son had left to the North of the colony, but he couldn't find any more information.

He moved up to a tree and sat against it, letting his lightning-bolt-shaped tail fall to the side. Half his mind noticed his tail fell to the north. He wanted to follow after his son. His thoughts meandered back to the colony. Though he was stronger than most of the pikachu, a few were stronger than him. And of course the few raichu the colony had were much stronger than him. With his influence, gathering a search party wouldn't be hard, but that would leave the colony weaker. No, he had to do this alone. He looked North. Was his son still alive?

It didn't matter. Alive or dead, he needed to know. Pushing himself off the tree's bark, he headed North in search of his son.

* * *

A/N: Well, love it or hate it, I'd love to know. If you've got anything to say, I'd love to hear it!


	9. A Second, but More Annoying

Vince's heart raced. It wouldn't stop. His mind strained to comprehend the glory sprawled out before him. His massive eyes scanned the wonderful gift that lay before him. Every inch of his body wanted to run around and play on the expansive and glorious front yard of his home. What would have a few days ago been a ten step trek now seemed an expansive world to run around and play in. Any fears of a threat hiding behind a dark corner were destroyed by the large, imposing figures of Chris and Peter squashing the grass below their feet. For a moment, he forgot why they were with him, only knowing that they were on their way to his house. He didn't remember he should've been following them until Chris stopped walking and turned around.

"Coming, Vince?" Seeing his friend's face helped remind him he had a much more pressing matter. Yet, the importance of telling his mother that he hadn't been erased from existence somehow still in no way compared to his desire to frolic in the yard. His sporadic glances up from the green grass showed Chris's face transitioning from minor curiosity to deep confusion. "You... wanna play in the yard?"

Immediately Vince nodded his head, wracking his mind to try and qualify his decision. "Not for too long, not an..." no word for hour "just a few..." no word for minute "Just a little bit." His minor frustration at his struggle with language was immensely eclipsed by his want to play in the yard. His persuasive skills clearly weren't enough, because Chris started walking towards him, Peter following behind him. As Chris knelt down, Vince stood up to try and bridge the sizeable gap in height. It didn't help much.

Chris just looked at Vince for a bit, scanning his expression, stance, and thoughts. The boy's wide eyes, the way he rocked back and forth on his heels, his mind's constant wandering towards his imaginings of running through the yard: everything screamed that Vince desperately wanted to run around the yard. This childlike behavior left Chris unsettled. The voice of Vincent's thoughts remained, but their content seemed so... alien. "Why... do you want to play in the yard?"

Vince, slowly realizing what he wanted to be ridiculous, scratched behind his ear and looked to the side. "I don't know, it seems like fun." He quickly looked back up, his eyes alternately staring at Peter and Chris, seeming to grow indefinitely in size. "Can I? Please?"

Peter, using Chris's half of the conversation to guess at the rest, explained, "We need to talk to Mom. Can't this wait?" Vince knew the right answer. He knew what he should do, but what he wanted to do held a much greater priority.

"Why... can't I do this before we do that?" That question was answered not by Peter or Chris, but by the door behind them opening.

"Peter? Chris?" The voice belonged to his mother. It sounded frantic, a bit desperate. "Do you guys know where that mouse is?" Vince heard that she was coming closer, so he fell to all fours and ran around Peter and Chris to see her. The moment the two made eye contact, her gait doubled in speed. His consciousness became very split: he recognized the figure both as his mother and as the large predator with the shrill, piercing scream. Luckily for him, she seemed more like a mother in that moment. Within moments, she knelt before him and placed a sheet of paper between them. Vince looked at it, recognizing immediately the paper he'd struggled to write his name on. "Did you write this?"

* * *

Ampaw kept going, the memory of his son moving him forward. But while the memory of his son helped him deal with physical fatigue, it didn't solve the problem. He knew soon he'd have to stop to eat and rest. His nose lifted into the air to detect a source of food. Faintly but definitely, he smelled a generous amount of berries clustered together in the distance. Now that he had an idea of what specifically he wanted to look for, he started sweeping around to smell where the scent was strongest. It seemed not too far to his right, so he started heading in that direction, his stomach aching in anticipation.

Despite his exhaustion, he couldn't help but break into a sprint. The forest wasn't too dense, so he didn't need to do much maneuvering around the trees as he ran, only needing to hop left or right every once in a while. After only a few moments, he saw the bush of berries. He practically leapt the last few body lengths towards the berries, almost colliding with the bush itself. The berries fell off their branches with the help of his paws, hardly needing any added effort. After popping them with his teeth, the berries melted in his mouth, so sweet, so juicy. Not needing to bring any back to the colony, he selfishly ate every berry without worrying about saving any for the others.

He kept stuffing his face with berries until his stomach couldn't hold any more, then rolling onto his back and basking in the afterglow of his meal. For a moment he considered never returning to the colony, allowing himself to always get stuffed and never save food for others. Then a menacing scent reminded him why he stayed in a colony. Sniffing the air again made him certain: a predator was nearby, and getting closer. Hopping onto all fours, he started examining his surroundings, both searching for an escape route if necessary, and trying to determine where the predator was approaching from.

He smelled the creature coming from the North. Directly in his way. A tree stood a few body lengths away from him, so he decided to climb it, hoping the predator couldn't climb. Running up to its base, he leapt at the last moment, using the forward momentum to vault himself up to the lowest branch. Not stopping there, he dug his claws lightly into the bark of the tree to skitter up to the next branch. He held onto the center of the tree to stand higher and look for the approaching predator. The creature had dark brown, almost black fur all over except for its muzzle, which was light brown. Two horns protrude from its head, with rib like structures along its back, and it was approaching on all fours.

Never before had Ampaw seen a creature like this, so he had no idea what to expect. He decided to scale the tree further, hoping the creature wouldn't find him. Rolling briefly back on his haunches, he launched himself up and forward towards the next branch. Be it his overestimation of his own strength, or the underestimation of how many berries he ate, he undershot the jump by a hair, making him hit the side of the branch instead of land on top of it. He frantically clawed at the bark of the tree, hoping desperately that he could get a grip. Just as his hind-paws lost contact with the tree, his right fore-paw dug into the bark. Immediately, he used this security to slam his left paw into the bark as well.

Yanking himself up with his fore-paws, he pushed himself the rest of the way with his hind-paws, gasping for air once he felt the bark of the tree under his belly. His moment of relief was violently interrupted by a flurry of flames flying past him on all sides, with a few stray embers licking the tips of his paws. His instinct to let go of the branch and lick his burnt skin nearly overcame his desire not to fall off the tree, but he just barely kept hold of his wits and convinced himself to keep hold of the branch. Instead of letting go completely, he loosened his grip so he could stand on the branch, turned around and scampered to the center of the tree, looking for more protection.

Another flurry of embers flew harmlessly past him just as he reached the center of the tree, where there were enough branches close enough together that he could jump from one to the other and avoid the attacks. He jumped to a branch directly to the left of the one he was on, a flurry of embers assaulting his side moments before his paws collided with the new branch. He did his best to ignore the burning pain of his singed fur as he looked down to see the wolf-like pokémon preparing another flurry of embers. Hopping to another branch, he realized he couldn't keep this up much longer. His paws and legs had gained a dull ache from his long walk that became infinitely worse from jumping from branch to branch.

Running away would be risky since he didn't know how fast the dog could run, and he was certain his legs were more tired than the dog's. Fighting, however, reversed the situation: the dog had been attacking him for some time now, so it would most likely be more tired of fighting(albeit not that much more). And, while the burn that had hit Ampaw hurt, the worst of the pain came from the surprise of being hit. The actual damage it did to him was very minimal.

Deciding his best option was to fight, he hopped to another branch and waited for the next flurry of embers, altering his flow of electricity to begin filling his cheeks. The moment the smoldering cinders flew harmlessly by him, he leapt to a lower branch and discharged a massive bolt of electric energy towards the dog. The hound didn't have time to evade the attack and took the attack's full power. As it recoiled in pain and shock, Ampaw hopped down a few branches and then to the ground to face the creature head on.

The dog was still stunned from the attack, so Ampaw charged forward faster than he could and began unleashing a flurry of scratches and bites on the predator. He then kicked off the creature's body to put himself out of harm's way, using his forepaws to twist his body around and face the hound once he'd landed. To Ampaw's shock and relief, the predator had fallen over and now lay comatose. He remained tense for a moment, fearing the dog was faking a feint to catch him off guard, but once he saw the dog's complete lack of motion, he relaxed. Sniffing the air to check for other predators, he started heading North again. He wanted to sleep, but he knew that the dog would wake up at some point and even though it was weak, it would be considerably easier to kill Ampaw while he was asleep.

So he began to head North in search of a place to sleep.

* * *

Before Vince had a chance to protest, the other two boys convinced his mom to go inside before they spoke, leaving the glorious yard behind them. Vince considered staying behind, but this thought was immediately prevented by Chris grabbing him by the scruff of his neck. His instinctive squeaks of protest and shock from being carried fell on deaf ears as Chris continued walking forward, indifferent to the squeaking.

By the time Vince stopped complaining, Chris gingerly placed him on the carpet of the living room. He looked up to tell his friend that he could indeed walk on his own, but then he saw his mother's worried face. She still held the piece of paper in her hand, carefully clutching it tightly enough to crinkle it. Her eyes frenetically scanned the paper, trying desperately to discern the meaning. The horror on her face made Vince regret wanting to put this off and having considered not telling her at all.

Peter, who was sitting right next to her on her left, wrapped an arm around her in an attempt to calm her. "You okay?" Her watery eyes' frantic glance to Vincent answered the question, but her head nodded in an attempt to be strong.

Not looking for comfort, she pushed herself off the couch, took a few steps, and knelt in front of Vincent, pushing the paper in front of him. "Did you write this?" He didn't hesitate to nod his head. Less than a second passed before she asked him, "What do you know about Vincent?" He racked his brain, trying to figure out both what he needed to say and how he could say it. Behind her, Chris held Peter back from coming over, whispering, "He wants to tell her." His mom couldn't hear, but his massive ears helped him hear what Chris said.

After what was really a bit too long for such a simple idea, Vince knew how to talk to his mom. It was literally staring him in the face. He pushed himself up to a bipedal stance and began to mime-write on his left hand with his right. His mom must have anticipated this, because she pulled a pencil from her pocket and handed it to him. Plucking it out of her hand with both paws, he waddled forward and sat on top of the paper, pinching the pencil with his paws and using his mouth for extra stability.

The moment the lead hit the paper, she leaned in closer, causing his heart to beat a little bit faster. She must have noticed his cringe, because she leaned back to give him some space. The extra space did little to make the words come easier. Not only was it hard to think of how to write what he wanted to say, he couldn't think of what he needed to say. It proved more difficult than he expected to explain to his mother that something previously thought to be impossible happened to him.

Eventually he determined to just take the straight forward approach. He pressed the lead against the paper and lifted it back up to create a dot and then pulled it across the paper below that to create a line under it. He then scooted to the right a bit to draw two diagonal lines that he wanted to touch at the peak but didn't quite make it, then drawing a line to connect them. He scooted over again to write three vertical lines connected by two arches at the top in one stroke, scooted over again to draw two diagonal lines pointing down, scooted over again to repeat the dot and the line under it, scooted over to draw two horizontal lines connected by an arch in one stroke, scooted over to draw a crescent shape, scooted over to do almost the same thing, but added a curve to the line connecting it to the middle of the crescent. Finally, he stood up and waddled off the paper, letting the pencil fall.

His cheeks sparked in anticipation as his mother snatched up the paper and began decoding his message. Her eyes squinted in confusion, but shot open wide after a few seconds, signifying she had successfully decoded the message. She didn't seem confident, however, because her eyes ran over the poor "hand"writing over and over again, double, triple, quintuple, octuple-checking that what she thought it said was indeed what it said. After what felt like an eternity to Vince, she looked over the paper and let her voice whisper, "Vince?"


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: After over a year of hiatus, he returns.

* * *

Chris leaned on the railing of the porch, his glazed over eyes watching a pichu romp through the front yard. He had to remind himself the pichu was Vince. The view before him looked like a creature between a child and a wild animal playing alone in the front yard, no similarities to the boy Chris knew. If it weren't for the stray English thoughts he passively picked up, Chris wouldn't be able to tell Vince was anything but an animal.

Vince's mom, leaning next to Chris on the same railing, broke him out of his depressing thoughts. "How did this happen?"

"I've got no—" the memory of Vince crying "it's all my fault" interrupted him. "—idea." Vince's mom didn't notice the pause. Another silence came, leaving Chris stuck thinking about another troubling scenario surrounding his friend. The disturbing words "it's all my fault" wouldn't stop running through his mind. What could his friend have possibly meant by such an absurd claim? Unable to come to a satisfying explanation on his own, he decided to go to the source. He pushed off the railing, walked down the steps of the porch to the yard.

After pouncing on a random blade of grass, Vince noticed the approaching human and met Chris at his feet within a few steps. He stared up at his friend and tilted his head, saying "What's going on?" without speaking a word. Chris knelt down to lessen the massive difference in height between the two of them. "Mind if we talk for a bit?" He asked low enough that only Vince would be able to tell what he was saying.

Vince's head tilted a bit more, a tentative frown and furrowed brow demonstrating his increasing confusion. "Sure... about what?"

Chris's eyes fell to the side, trying to search for a way to say what he needed to. "How... all this happened." Vince's expression went from confusion to deep embarrassment and shame, derisive sparks dancing off his cheeks.

After a moment, he bashfully requested, "Can we... talk about this more..." his brow furrowed as if he were searching for a word, "somewhere where it's just the two of us?"

"Sure," he said, brushing his hand over Vince's head to relieve the stress of both him and his friend.

He reached around to pick up Vince but stopped when Vince started squirming in protest. Once Chris put him back on the ground, Vince looked up to him and said, "I can walk there myself!" anger in his voice and expression. He didn't wait for Chris to respond before he began walking towards the house. Chris just followed behind.

Seeing Vince's mother's questioning eyes, he quickly claimed, "He's tired, ready to go inside." Chris didn't stop to see if she accepted this excuse (though a passive, involuntary listening to her surface thoughts didn't reveal any skepticism) before he opened the door and stepped into the house. He followed Vince as he turned two corners and arrived at the ajar door to Vince's room.

Stepping into the room, he felt Vince's flood of anxious thoughts, saw his ears pressed against his head, his eyes fixed onto the ground, and his body shaking. "You all right, Vince? What's going on?" Chris asked, dropping down to lay a hand on his friend's head and calm him. He heard the same flood of guilty thoughts he'd heard earlier at his house, with his own name being specifically mentioned more. He tried literally to shake his friend out of it, trying to be as ginger as possible but still jolt him out of his own mind. "Vince!" The flood of thoughts stopped as Vince carefully looked up to meet Chris's gaze. "What's going on?"

Vince stood up as best he could, eyes again dropping to the ground. "I… I started this."

Not yet grasping what his friend was saying, Chris's expression remained blank. "Started what?"

After a brief glance up and a cradling of his right arm, he tried to explain. "Me… being this… and you hearing thoughts… and all the other stuff that's happening. It was all me." His fear that his friend would disown him and turn him into whatever interdimensional authority that would have jurisdiction of this kind of crime crumbled at the sound of Chris's dumbfounded chuckle. Looking up, he saw his friend equal parts confused and amused.

After a few moments, his chuckles became laughter, amusement overtaking the confusion on his face. A small, offended shock to his leg just barely taking back his attention. After looking at Vince's angered face and stifling his laughter, he tried to justify his reaction. "I used to think, 'the world could end, and Vince would blame himself for it,' but I never thought it'd actually happen."

Frustration and shame taking over his anger, Vince put his head in his hands and tried to explain himself further. "No, I'm serious. I…" Wrapping his mind around how he could possibly describe what led up to this impossible situation. Not only was it difficult to figure out how to present the information, but retrieving the memories proved much more difficult than he expected. Not only did bringing the events to mind take great effort, but odd, irrelevant thoughts seemed to take precedence over pertinent information. Shocking the floor in frustration, he gave up on describing the events and decided to focus on something physical. He fell back on all fours and dashed over to the white orb.

He felt that same energy once again as he approached, the scorched carpet beneath it evidence of the events of earlier that day. Turning on his heels, he leaned back on his hind legs and looked up to see Chris only a few steps behind him. He pointed at the orb and said, "It was this."

As he approached, Chris looked progressively less interested in Vince and more interested in the orb, curiosity in his eyes. Seeming to be entranced, he crouched in front of it, almost knocking Vince over. As he reached to grab it, Vince's attempts to try and yell warnings fell on deaf ears. He tried shocking his friend, but it was too late. Chris already had his hand on the orb, the initial blank expression being contorted into one of pain as his eyes rolled back.

Vince turned to the orb and started frantically trying to pull the orb out of Chris's hand. Even though his hand was relaxed, Vince's paws couldn't do anything to separate the orb from his hand. He tried pushing and pulling in succession from different angles and positions, but nothing happened. During one particularly hard tug, the orb suddenly released, causing him to fall backwards as orb rolled over his bandaged body and bopping him rather hard in the nose, both reminding him of his old wounds and giving him a new one.

He sat up and cradled his nose, anger and pain taking precedence over the worry he had for his friend. Both were interrupted, however, by a tender hand rubbing his head. Looking up, he saw Chris's expression of worry, confusion and fear. As he looked at his friend, he felt an odd sensation in his head. Something like a non-corporeal finger twisting about in his mind caused him to cringe and recoil.

The feeling stopped the moment he lost contact with Chris's hand. "You… did this." Shame and fear froze him in place. Chris knew. The orb must have told him. "S-Sorry! I-I didn't mean to look into your mind like that, it just happened. But… oh my god. How…" Too enveloped in shame, he couldn't be angered at the breach of privacy, not that he he really recognized the significance of what his friend said anyway. He stood up and got back to cradling his right arm and examining the carpet.

"I'm… sorry. I didn't know this would happen!" A chuckle hit his ears like a pestering pebble.

"Obviously, there's no way you could have known this would happen!" Another spurt of chuckles later and he noticed Vince's insulted frustration. "I can't possibly be mad at you for this. No one can. You didn't do this on purpose, it basically happened to you as much as it happened to anyone else." He patted Vince's head once again, sans the probing, to comfort him. "It's not your fault."

This lifted a bit of weight off Vince's chest. He still felt guilt for what he'd done, but at least his friend wouldn't disown him. The hand on his head slowly migrated down to his torso, gingerly feeling the bandages. "So much has happened, and it's barely been a day." Once white, they were now covered in scorch marks, dirt, stained green, and even a little bit of blood seeped through in places.

Vince recoiled with a "Pi" escaping his lips as Chris's fingers ran over a particularly tender cut.

Pulling back his hand, he stammered, "Sorry!" Vince took some time to look over his body himself. It didn't feel like it had only been half a day since his brother found him and bandaged him up, it felt more like a year. More had happened in the past day than he could possibly make sense of.

A knock on the door frame interrupted the pair's introspection. They turned to see Vince's mom at the door. "Are… you two hungry? I'm going to make dinner."

Up until now, Vince hadn't noticed the empty feeling in his stomach, but at the mention of food, it became almost unbearable. He let out an excited, "Yes!" and scampered over to her side. "What are you making?"

She knelt down, scratched his head, and looked over to Chris. "I guess that was a yes?"

Chris stood up and began following behind Vince. "That, and he wants to know what you're making."

"Well… this mess left me with a pretty fully stocked kitchen, for some reason, so there's a lot to choose from." She looked back at Vincent. "Anything you wanted in particular?"

He didn't even get to think before blurting out, "Apple!" Regaining his composure a moment too late, he tried to calm himself down and rephrase his request, but only managed to formulate a longer sentence and say it just as fast. "I really like apples! Could you make something with apples?" He asked, ears twitching in anticipation.

His pure excitement and joy at such a simple request got a chuckle from Chris which he struggled to stifle so he could translate. "He'd like something with apples," he stammered between chuckle-fits. Chris's mirth must have been contagious because Vince's mom began to chuckle as well.

Hope overshadowed any embarrassment as he anxiously awaited his mother's response, becoming so excited that he began to paw at her leg to get an answer. After managing to steal herself, she managed to chuckle out, "Sure, I think I can manage something." She gave her son a pat on his head and headed off to the kitchen. Vincent followed a few steps behind before realizing he might be leaving his friend behind. As he looked back, he saw Chris step out of the room, wave his hand that had an inexplicable purple glow, and the door shut without any physical contact.

Chris didn't even notice what had happened until his eyes met Vince's astonished gaze. In disbelief, his eyes shot to his hand, the odd glow fading until his hand returned to complete normal. After turning it over a few times, carefully inspecting the front and back, he leaned against the door he'd just closed and cradled his head in his other hand. As Vince scurried over, Chris mumbled, "This day just can't help but get weirder and weirder."

"How'd you do that without even noticing you did it? It looked so normal to you," Vince questioned, tone equally as curious as worried and confused.

"I… don't know, I…" his voice trailed off, inspection of his ordinary looking hand taking his full attention. A look of slight clarity came across his face as he mumbled, "The orb," mostly to himself. Vince prodded his leg, hoping for more of an explanation, reminding Chris his friend still stood right next to him. Without taking his eyes off his hand, he began to explain. "When I saw the orb, I could feel… energy, I don't know how to explain it, it…" he trailed off again for a moment, trying to find the right words. "It felt the same way people's thoughts do, but… without a particular sound. Just… energy. And when I picked it up," Vince remembered when he had first touched the orb after being transformed. The memory of being filled to the brim with electricity to the point of bursting, unbearable pain until he couldn't do anything but feint. "Yeah, it was like that, but instead of electricity, it was… I don't know."

Though a bit taken aback by his thoughts being so transparently invaded, concern for his friend took more of a focus. "Psychic energy?" he guessed. "You are a psychic type."

Somehow, Chris's face looked even more confused. "Psychic type?"

"Well… yeah? That's how you can read thoughts, right?"

"Yeah, but… aren't pokémon the ones with types?" This provoked an odd thought in Vincent. Such a division between pokémon and people for a moment struck him as odd. If he thought about it, the huge difference between pokémon and people seemed obvious, but on the surface seemed ridiculous.

"Well, aren't people just really smart kinds of pokémon with less fighting ability?" He didn't know where that thought had come from, but it felt so obvious. Not even an insight, just an observation of reality as it obviously was.

Chris went silent for a time, trying to formulate a response. "I'll have to take your word for it, I guess. You know a lot more about the games than I do." Vince nodded his head even though he knew the thought hadn't come from his experience with the games. A familiar tune Vince couldn't quite name pierced the air, interrupting the pair's dialogue. Chris reached into his pocket and pulled out his ringing phone, the source of the sound. Chris looked jubilant when he answered and recognized the voice. "Mom!"

The following exchange was so frantic and disorganized that even Vince in his current state had trouble keeping up with its pace. From what he could gather, Chris's parents had found each other in the city and were using a payphone because apparently their phones had disappeared. Vince started skittering up his friend to try and hear the conversation better, but Chris began to squirm at the unfamiliar sensation. "Ah, Vince! What are you doing?"

A curious, "Vincent is there?" from Chris's mother caused the first bout of silence in the past minute.

Chris gave a thoughtful look at Vince who had scaled up to his shoulder. "Uh… sort of." Before his mother could question further, Chris explained, "Today's been really complicated, there's a lot to explain. When do you guys think you'll be able to come home?"

"Your father's trying to jump a car, but if that doesn't work, we'll just have to walk."

Chris let out a laugh. "Jumping a car? Never thought that'd be something Dad would do." It was his mother's turn to laugh.

"Oh, he was something before I whipped him into shape." There was a pause for a time. "Well, I'm really glad to hear both of you are safe. Me and your father will try to get home as quick as we can. I love, stay safe."

"Same to you." The two hung up, and Chris was awash with relief. He put the phone back in his pocket and looked to Vincent standing on his shoulder with his head cocked to the side. "I've been dealing with you so much, I'd completely forgotten about my own problems."

Vince looked embarrassed and guilty, stray sparks hopping off his cheeks as he looked down at the ground and cradled his right arm in its twin. "Sorry."

Chris realized too late the implications of what he'd said. "No, I didn't mean it like that." Vince looked up briefly, but his gaze quickly went back to examining his footing. "Hey, I'm glad I was able to help you, you're my friend. It's just been busy, that's all." He pat his friend's head, a gesture becoming bizarrely natural for him.

"You have… helped a lot, though. I am…" indebted didn't seem to have a pichu equivalent, "I owe you a lot." Chris's finger poking his still slightly sore nose stunned him out of his gratitude, replacing it with anger.

"Don't worry about it," Chris chuckled. "You were the one who woke me up earlier today, and showing me that orb gives me at least some hope that we might be able to fix all this." Vince's eyes bulged open, his anger quickly replaced by intense hope.

"You really think so?!" he exclaimed, a few sparks of excitement bouncing off his cheeks.

Chris couldn't help a chuckle at his friend's constant fluctuation in mood. "It's at least more than we had before, right?" Vince thought for a moment before nodding his head, a smile finding its way across his cheeks as, for the first time today, he really had hope his situation could get better.

* * *

The sun slowly set over the increasingly unfamiliar forest that steadily gave way to the suburbs and city. He didn't want to stop, but he knew there wouldn't be many trees tall enough to protect him. Ampaw reluctantly climbed a nearby tree, checked for a predatory bird's nest, found a nook big enough for him to snuggle into, and fell asleep.

* * *

A/N: I'm back! I'd joke that no one cares, but the fact that I still get pretty consistent views on this story and its predecessor is one of the things that finally got me to seriously work on this again. I never intended to abandon it, and I do intend to finish, I just... got distracted? Maybe it's a lame excuse, but a lot can happen in your first year of college. I'll do my best to post within the year, but if I miss that mark, I'll still try to post at least before it's been over a year.

You probably noticed reading, but I'm pretty rusty with my writing. I haven't had many chances to just write for fun, so your input would be greatly appreciated! I'm sure there's a lot I need to fix, so let me know if you would. Reviews are greatly appreciated.


	11. Chapter 11

Just as the sun breached the horizon, Vince began to rouse from his slumber. Despite staying up late, it seemed he'd still have to wake up early, already having too much energy to go back to sleep. He rolled onto his back and looked down at his hands, half-heartedly hoping to find his memories of yesterday were a dream all along. They weren't. He had paws. And fur. And a tail. As his eyes drifted to the ceiling, his mind drifted to the orb. That white, featureless, merciless orb. It intrigued him as much as it terrified him. He thought of going over to examine it, but his fear as well as a rumbling in his stomach convinced him not to.

As he considered what he could do about his hunger, the memory of last night's meal brought him an answer as well as a load of excitement. He rolled over onto his paws and scampered over to the slightly ajar door, the hope for another taste of those divine fried apples bringing his scamper to a sprint across the hall to his brother's room. After dashing through his brother's partially opened door, he effortlessly hopped onto his bed, landing inches from Peter's face, excitedly shouting, "Peter!"

A scream and a clumsy tripping over his own blankets left Peter laying on the floor next to his bed, clutching his head, while Vince cradled his ears that had flattened themselves against his head. "Vince, what the hell? Why?" Peter shouted, groggily pushing himself off the ground. Once he saw Vince's watery eyes, however, his anger turned to pitied frustration.

Loud, hurried footsteps dashed down the hallway, leading to their mom bursting into the room, asking "What happened? Are you okay?" between gasps. Her eyes darted from Vince to Peter, waiting for an answer from one of them. Once she noticed Vince's hurt expression, she immediately knelt down, began patting his head and cooing, "It's okay, I'm here. Did you hurt something? What happened?"

While Vince leaned into his mother's comforting hand, Peter began to explain. "He woke me up by jumping right next to my face, which startled me off my bed."

After a final scratch, she pulled her hand to her eyes and chuckled. "So, you two ended up startling each other." After giving her temples a good rub, she looked down to Vince and asked, "Why'd you scare your brother? For fun?"

"He didn't scare me," Peter half-mumbled, half-chuckled.

"I didn't mean to! I was just hungry and got… excited," Vince tried to explain, his mother's blank expression reminding him he couldn't be understood. After a moment of thought, he pointed at his stomach and repeated "Hungry."

"You were hungry?" she asked, Vincent nodded in response. "I can fix that," she said, turning around and walking out of the room. "I'll go see what I can do for breakfast, then."

"I know what you can do!" Vince exclaimed, dashing after his mother who didn't even look down to acknowledge him. Realizing again he'd have to be more direct and obvious with his communications, he went ahead of her to the fridge and stood in front of it, pointing at it once his mom rounded the corner.

She slanted her brow. "Looks like you already know what you want," she noted, opening the fridge as Vincent gleefully nodded. Soon as he could, he hopped onto it's second shelf, ignoring the cold and grabbing the plastic container that held his tasty treat. Before he could turn around and present it, however, he felt his mother grab him by the scruff and heard her scold, "No, Vince stop! Get out of there!" Panicked, he held his treat as tight as he could with both hands as his mother dragged him out of the fridge. Once they were eye to eye, she saw what he held. She placed both him and his treat on the counter next to each other. "Apples again? Have you had anything else since yesterday?"

Rolling back onto his feet, he shook his head and tilted it in confusion. Why would that matter?

"Just because you can't eat meat doesn't mean you don't need to have a balanced diet," she explained as Peter rounded the corner. Vince deflated: all the morning's struggles had been for naught. "Don't pout," she laughed, "You can have some apples, but you need to eat something else with it."

"Really?!" he beamed, eyes wide with excitement. She laughed again, walking over to the pantry to find a better main course.

After looking for a moment, she knelt down. "Huh, what do you think of this?" Vince hopped off the counter and looked for what she was talking about, Peter following behind to do the same. Before him stood a bright yellow bag with "Pi-Chew!" branded across the top, alongside several happy pichu playing, eating, and sleeping. He could skim a few words like health, tasty, and play, but couldn't read words more complicated than that at a glance. He couldn't help but grimace at the idea of eating food so clearly for pets.

"Seems like a good idea, wanna taste it?" Peter asked.

"Not… really," he replied, scratching the back of his head as bashful sparks bounced off his cheeks.

Reading his body language, his mom offered some comfort. "I'm sure it tastes fine to you, don't worry."

Frustrated that he couldn't tell him his concern wasn't the food's flavor, he shrugged and nodded, hoping Chris could explain for him later. Peter opened the bag, pulled out a piece and placed it in Vince's waiting paws. It looked just like dog or cat food, smelled vaguely of nothing specific, and felt like powdery pumice. Putting his pride aside, he closed his eyes and popped it into his mouth.

His ears perked up and his eyes popped open as its flavor turned out rather pleasant. "You like it?" his mom asked, to which he embarrassedly nodded, sparks bouncing off his cheeks once again. "No need to be ashamed," she consoled, "It's just food." Not quite completely comforted, he just shrugged. "You don't have to eat it if you don't want to, we can find something else." After thinking for a moment, he shook his head and pointed at the bag: it tasted fine enough and would probably be the best food they could find for him. She pat his head and began examining the bag to find the serving size. After a moment, she reached into the bag. "Go get a bowl, Peter."

"Sure," he answered, grabbing a bowl from the cabinet and handing it to her. She pulled a scoop out of the bag and used it to pour a nice helping of Pi-Chew into the bowl. Vince sat down in front of it and began scooping handfuls into his mouth. Once there were only a few pieces left, he heard a plate clink down next to him, with a familiar, intoxicating aroma emanating from it. He instantly abandoned what was left in the bowl and gorged himself on the divine desert he so desired.

Despite being cold, the flavor remained just as good as he remembered. After he'd finished, he looked up to see both Peter and his mother looking down at him with amusement, reminding him he was being watched. With his self-awareness returned, he realized he'd caked his paws and mouth in sticky syrup. He tried wiping his hands off on his bandages, but then noticed how dirty they already were.

"I… think you need a bath," his mother noted. Vince nodded his head, sniffing himself to confirm the worst, which prompted a chuckle from his brother. "Peter, give your brother a bath."

"What? Why?" the two brothers said in unison. "He can bathe himself," Peter claimed, followed shortly by an affirmative and insulted, "Chu!"

"At least help him get there, I don't want him tracking syrup along the floor." To prove a point, he tried taking a step forward on his hind-legs. Befitting of his luck of the past two days, he tripped over the bowl, spilling what was left of its contents and leaving two sticky paw-prints on the ground. As much as he wanted to, he no longer had any argument against being carried as he felt Peter lift him by the scruff of his neck. His morale only worsened when his brother put him in the sink instead of the bathtub. At least he'd be bathing himself.

The process was rather simple, hardest part being manipulating the massive (to him) shampoo bottle without making a mess, and then trying to stop the bandages that fell off from clogging the drain. After rinsing off the suds, he turned off the faucet of his sink-made-shower, got out and shook of as much water as he could. Still dripping, he hopped to the floor and scampered out to the living room.

Seeing the sopping wet Vince and the trail of water behind him, his mom couldn't help but let out an exasperated, "Vince…," as she turned around and went into the kitchen. Towel in hand, she walked over to him, knelt down and began drying her son. "I know there are towels in the bathroom." He just avoided eye contact, glancing back at the trail of water behind him. "At least you smell better now," she said, putting him back down and moving on to the floor behind him.

As she knelt down to start cleaning, four knocks came from the door. Vince dashed over to the door, remembering that Chris said he would come over early in the morning last night. He excitedly pawed at the door until his mother opened it for him. "Chris!" he shouted, running out the moment the door had cracked open just enough.

"Hey, Vince!" Chris greeted, already on his haunches to greet his friend. After giving Vince's head a few rubs, he looked up to greet the other person there. "Hello, Ms. Vandergrift. Mind if I come in?"

"Of course, always," she said, leaving the door ajar as she went back to cleaning. "Don't mind Vince's mess, I'm cleaning it right now."

"Mom!" Vince whined, embarrassed sparks bouncing off his cheeks. Chris simply laughed and stepped inside, closing the door after Vince scuttled inside. "I thought I was dry enough, sorry," he mumbled, still more sparks falling.

"Evidently not," Chris chuckled, walking over to Vince's room. "Come on." He followed close behind, cheeks still burning from embarrassment. Once they were inside, Chris closed the door, walked over to the orb, and began to explain. "I have an idea."

* * *

(A/N:) Wow! A chapter within the same year! Who knew it was possible? Anyway, I've started developing more concrete ideas for where I want to take this story in the future, and I'm honestly excited for it. Hope you like this and please let me know what you think of it! All reviews are very much appreciated.


	12. Chapter 12

A combination of cold wind buffeting his fur (despite him hiding in the hood of Chris's jacket) as well as a dialogue between Chris and an unfamiliar voice steadily pulled Vince out of his slumber. He curled up even tighter to avoid the harsh winds and perked one ear up slightly to try and hear the unfamiliar voice. Unfortunately, the cold remained oppressive and a lull came in the conversation. Giving up on listening, he peaked his eyes over the edge of Chris's hood in an attempt to get a look at the new person. As his eyes barely peaked over the edge, he met eyes with the person, a girl, who was sitting left of Chris on the same bench.

As she smiled and raised her hand to wave, he ducked behind cover again, trying to regain whatever stealth he could. He was not very successful. "Oh, hey! The little guy's awake."

"Little guy?" he grumbled.

Chris chuckled at the response. "Yeah, I felt him back there. I was just waiting for him to come out and introduce himself." He turned his head to get a slightly better view behind him. "Come on out, Vince," he prompted.

Not only did Vince want to keep the cover from the weather he had, but the idea of meeting someone added to the cold by sending chills down his spine. "It's… cold," he explained, awkward sparks hopping off his cheeks.

Chris waited a moment before asking, "What's wrong? If you're cold, I actually got you something for that." Vince's ears perked up a bit at the prospect, but he didn't move from what little comfort he had. "Come on out so I can give it to you." Reluctantly, Vince began crawling up to Chris's right shoulder, staying close to his neck to absorb as much body heat as he could. He barely kept his footing when Chris leaned over to reach into a large backpack Vince didn't remember him having. After another disorienting shift back to sitting up, Chris held a tiny hoodie in front of him. "I found this in a shop and thought you might like it."

Switching to a bipedal stance, Vince reached out, grabbed the jacket, and inspected it a bit before trying to pull it over his head. He got his head into it, but pulling it through the rest of the way proved more difficult than he expected. After some struggling, he pushed his arms into the sleeves and used the leverage to pull it the rest of the way over his head. The touch of cold still lingered, but the hoodie brought him comforting warmth. Despite the sleeves being slightly too long, it actually fit him quite well. "Thanks!" he beamed.

Chris returned the smile. "I'm glad you like it." Gesturing to the girl who remained patiently silent, he said, "You should show Ashley, she's been excited to meet you." Vince grimaced at the thought, nervous fear returning.

"Do I… have to?" he asked, fiddling with the excess fabric on his sleeves.

Instead of answering him, Chris picked him up by the scruff of his neck and plopped him on the bench next to Ashley, ignoring the surprised sparks and shouts of protest. "Sorry, he's a little shy," Chris explained.

"Aw, you're so cute!" she cooed. "And look, you two match!" A torrent of embarrassed sparks hopped down Vince's cheeks, bouncing harmlessly down his jacket. Before he mustered up the courage to stammer out a "thanks," she asked Chris, "Why's he sparking like that?"

Chris chuckled. "He does that when he's nervous or embarrassed."

She laughed, shifting her attention back to Vince. "That's so adorable," she giggled, tussling the fur on his head.

"Hey!" he protested, pushing her hand off his head. This cooing and cawing started to get on his nerves. "I'm not a baby!" He crossed his arms, pouted face looking down and to the side.

A look of confusion went over Ashley's face. She looked to Chris for an explanation. "He, uh," he took a moment to think of how to explain, "He doesn't like being treated like a baby." Another flurry of giggles ensued.

After trying very hard to compose herself, she looked at Vince once again. "I'm sorry, you're a big boy!" she managed to say in a slightly less demeaning tone.

Vince furrowed his brows, pouting even harder when he affirmed with all the confidence he could muster, "I am a big boy," angrily under his breath. Unfortunately, this brought a flood of uncontainable laughter from Chris. "Hey! What's so funny?" Vince demanded, but remained completely ignored by a now teary-eyed Chris. Frustrated anger building up, he dropped down onto his forepaws and launched a powerful shock into his friend's leg.

Shouting, Chris leapt up, clutching the smoking patch on his jeans. Ashley also jumped off the bench, surprised by the attack. "Vince, what the hell? That really hurt!"

"You were laughing at me!" he shouted back, his voice burning with anger.

"Can you blame me?" Chris retorted, his own voice teeming with rage. "I don't care what I did, a shock like that was way too much!" One hand still clutching his leg, he now pointed a scolding finger at Vince.

"I wouldn't have to shock you if you weren't being so mean!" Vince snapped, unwilling to back off an inch.

When Chris opened his mouth to respond, Ashley shouted, "Hey! Stop yelling at each other!" A new, tense silence filled the air. Ashley knelt in front of Vince, bringing her eyes down to his level. "You have to be careful with your electricity, okay?" she began to explain in a slow, soothing voice. "People are different than you, shocking us hurts a lot more than it does other pichu."

Vince rolled back onto his hind-legs, crossing his arms again. "I know… but…" he trailed off, unable to come up with a counter-argument.

"Can you nod if you understand? I can't understand what you're saying," she explained. Reluctantly, he did, his brow still furrowed, arms still crossed. "Thank you," she sighed as she stood and turned to face Chris. "He's obviously sensitive, laughing at him like you did was cruel."

"Well… yeah," he stammered, not expecting to get lectured.

"Good, now," she began, stepping out form between them, "Apologize to each other."

A squeak of protest and Vince's angry posture let Chris know he would have to be the one to apologize. With a frustrated sigh, he took a step forward and tried to meet eyes with Vince who refused to give him more than a few sparing glances. "Vince, I'm sorry for laughing at you," he muttered.

Vince didn't move, still unconvinced he needed to reciprocate. "Vince," Ashely prompted, "You agreed that you needed to be more careful."

"Yeah, but…" he searched his mind for an argument, but none came to him. Irritated acceptance setting in, he threw his arms down in frustration and finally met eyes with Chris. "Sorry," he mumbled and then looked at Ashley. "There, I said it."

Ashley looked at him with expectant scolding. "Was that an apology?" she asked, her voice burning with accusation.

"Yes," Vince sighed, rolling his eyes and nodding his head.

Seeing this, Ashley sighed, smiled, stood up, reached out both her arms and pat the two boys on their heads. "Good boys," she chuckled with a smirk.

Chris laughed, standing up and brushing her hand away. "Wow, you're better at dealing with him than I am." Without anyone to bounce his anger off of, Vince's burning rage diminished into smoldering annoyance.

"Well, I used to babysit, so I'm used to dealing with two boys being mad at each other." She and Chris both chuckled, leaving Vince alone to fume on the bench. Chris, of course, sensed the excess of negative thoughts coming from him and decided to work on improving it.

"The hoodie isn't the only thing I got for you, Vince." This piqued the boy's curiosity, prospect of new belongings almost entirely erasing his residual anger. He looked expectantly as Chris knelt and reached into the backpack once again, concealing what he pulled out with his other hand.

Vince was now brimming with excitement, past slights erased from his mind. He practically pounced on the item once Chris put it on the bench. In doing so, he pressed several keys of the miniature keyboard, producing a cluster of dissonant tones. He quickly recovered his footing and started deliberately examining it.

He first noted the range, barely more than two octaves surrounding middle c, impressive for such a small keyboard, but limiting nonetheless. Tone his next priority, he pressed a few keys at the high, mid, and low parts of the keyboard and found a tinny, very synthetic sound on all accounts. Not awful, but that mixed with the inability to vary dynamic certainly stood in the way of pulling decent emotion out of the machine. That aside, he pulled up his sleeves and got to work.

The lower octave would be sufficient enough for a bassline to add at least some harmony to the melody, which of course would be in the higher octave. For the sake of easy experimentation, he decided to go with rounded binary as his basic form so that he could loop it somewhat seamlessly with enough variation to find a sound he liked. A basic plan in mind, he got to work playing a simple tune at first to get used to pressing the keys with paws instead of fingers, eventually adding a basic bassline and some variation in the melody, playing with the theme in whatever ways he could with such limited equipment and ability, a few key changes here and there to break up the monotony, experimenting with tempo, rhythm, both together, and altogether getting lost in the music, eventually coming across a cadence with enough finality that he felt content concluding his play-session.

So immersed in playing, he'd forgotten entirely that anyone else was with him, so hearing Ashley shout, "That was amazing!" startled him. When he pivoted to face them, Ashley and Chris both shared a look of astonishment, causing bashful sparks to bounce down to the bench as he scratched the back of his head with his right hand.

"Th-thanks," he stammered, context and body-language managing to bridge the language barrier.

"Did you know he could play? How? Did you teach him?" The flurry of questions seemed more like expressions of wonder than answerable inquiries. As such, they all remained unanswered. Chris had questions of his own, several more than she had even begun to ask, but he'd have to wait until Ashley left so he could talk to Vince.

"I'm… just surprised as you are. I just got him a few kid's toys because they looked fun. I didn't… expect this." Not a full lie, but far from the truth. He'd expected Vince to play with the keyboard, but this display far exceeded his expectations.

Vince stuffed his hands into his jacket's pocket as more sparks leapt from his cheeks, embarrassed by being inundated with praise. He didn't really think he deserved so much praise, rationalizing they were probably more surprised than impressed, but he still felt flattered.

"Oh, darn it," Ashley started, "What time is it?" She pulled out her phone and checked the time, a grimace creasing its way across her face. "I'm sorry, I have to go. I told my family I'd be gone for an hour at most, they're probably worried sick." She stepped over to the bench, picked up her bags, and faced Chris. "It was nice meeting you, hope we see each other again," she said, then knelt down to face Vince. "You're really good!" she beamed, "Keep practicing and you'll be famous one day!" She gave him a wink as she stood up.

"Th-thanks!" Vince replied, embarrassed sparks and a bashful smile translating for him.

As she started heading off, Chris stuttered out, "B-bye," offering a wave she returned as she rushed off.

"Sorry again!" she shouted as she ran, leaving Vince flustered and Chris disappointed.

"We should probably head home, too," Chris suggested, "We don't want either of our parents getting suspicious."

"Were you able to get enough for the trip?" Vince asked, considering the original reason they went into town for the first time since he woke up.

"I think so." Chris went up to the bench and put the keyboard back into the backpack, then picked up and put on the backpack. "I got some defenses against wild pokémon, and some rations just in case." He looked down to Vince. "Ready to go?" He nodded and hopped off the bench. "Oh, you're walking this time?" he teased, starting to walk after Vince landed.

The two began their trek, Vince on two feet at the beginning, but he had to change to all four to keep up with Chris. The two walked in silence for a bit, giving Vincent time to realize just how strong his senses had become. At the cost of eyesight, he could hear and smell more than he knew how to process. Not only could he smell Chris from a few feet away, he could pick up more distinct scents than he could even identify, his human memory an insufficient source of knowledge for the world of scent.

His hearing surprised him even more. With ears as large as his skull, faraway sounds were easier to distinguish than a heartbeat with a stethoscope. In fact, he could even make out Chris's heartbeat without any effort. While this perceptive ability was invaluable in the wild, it overwhelmed and distracted him more than he could fully control. He tried to tune it out as much as he could, confident that Chris would protect him if need be.

Hearing Chris inhale to begin speaking, Vince tilted his head up slightly. "You really were incredible, Vince." Vince chuckled nervously, about as talented at handling praise as he was electricity. "Not just the playing, Vince," Chris began, a twinge of hesitation in his voice.

"What do you mean?" he asked, curiosity piqued.

"I…" he started, trying to think of how best to explain, "I didn't want to tell you this because I didn't want to worry you, but the way you think has steadily been changing since yesterday." Suddenly, Vince's feet became too heavy to move and his eyes couldn't help but examine the ground. "When I came to pick you up this morning, some of your thoughts weren't even in English, and the thoughts that were were structured completely differently than they had been yesterday." The worst fear in the back of his mind was true, and even happening faster than he expected. His mind was already slipping. Would he even be a human by the end of the- "Vince, hold on, let me finish before you get down on yourself." Chris had apparently knelt in front of him while he'd been lost in thought. "Once you started playing, it was like a switch flipped." Vince looked up and tilted his head to the side. "Instantly, your thoughts were even more human than when I first heard them."

He should have felt relief. He should have been able to let go of his worries now that he'd been told his mind was back to normal. But his anxiety held strong, his capacity to lose his humanity more threatening than his ability to retrieve it was relieving. Ironically, his pessimism served as a positive sign his humanity still remained.

A gust of wind pulled him out of his introspection, carrying with it cold and a familiar scent he couldn't recognize. His ears perked up as his eyes scanned his surroundings, searching for the source of the scent. He started walking in the general direction of the wind, sniffing the air occasionally as he walked. Chris tried to get his attention, but his attempts fell on deaf (or, otherwise occupied) ears.

An unexplainable excitement propelled his walk to a run to a sprint as the scent grew stronger and he could make out a voice as unrecognizable and familiar as the scent. His heartbeat peaked when a pikachu running towards him came into his vision, his unconscious emotions finally gaining a voice. He leapt into the pikachu's arms, tears of joy spilling out of his eyes as, "Daddy!" leapt from his lips, confounding him. His father was- "Daddy! I missed you!" His-

"Short Circuit! I'm so glad I found you!" He had barely been able to say any synonym of father for years, and now he was shouting it uncontrollably at a pikachu he'd never seen before. Suddenly, the embrace stopped, the pikachu put him down and got down on all fours, preparring to attack. "Stay back." A brief moment of understanding came to him when he saw Chris running towards them. Chris was running after him and the pikachu was trying to protect him from the approaching human. The boy stopped in his tracks when the pikachu growled out a prolonged, "Piiii," building up enough electricity to fill up the air around them.

The air held silence tense enough to cut, occasional static pops the only discernable sound. Vince needed to tell the pikachu Chris wasn't a threat, but he couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He couldn't think. He could only watch as Chris slid his hand back, the sound of a click echoing through the air as he pulled something off the backpack. Slowly, steadily, he slid his right foot back, followed by his left, another half-step back with his right to appease the pikachu.

The pikachu glanced back at Vince, and within the same moment a blur of black, and white flew through the air and bounced off its head. A sense of horror enveloped Vince. He reached out to the pikachu, a red beam of energy consuming it the moment his paw would have come in contact with its fur. The ball closed and fell to the ground inches away from him. It shook once. Twice. Three times and let out a ping.

His father was gone. Moments ago, he was hugging his father. His father had been dead for ten years. His father just disappeared into some sphere. He poked the sphere. Conflicting thoughts and emotions swirled in his mind. It wobbled. His throat tightened. His vision clouded. He fell back into a sitting position, looked up at Chris with tears in his eyes. "Where's my dad?" he mumbled, barely able to hear himself. He buried his eyes in his paws as tears began to flow, repeating loudly, "Where's my dad!" chest and throat so tight he could barely breath. Whimpers grew to sobs grew to heaving weeps as grief drowned him. A hand rubbed against his head, but he couldn't acknowledge it. He was consumed. Even when the hand lifted him up and he was being cradled in a pair of arms, he couldn't react, he could only make more tears.

Guilt, fear, grief, confusion all consumed him, spiraling him down until he felt the thud of hitting rock bottom. The pit in his stomach grew larger and deeper until it consumed him fully. His tears flowed and flowed until they couldn't flow anymore, leaving him sniffling and exhausted, ceaseless sobs replaced by occasional whimpers. Eventually, he was cognizant enough to acknowledge Chris cradling him, meeting his gaze with tear-soaked eyes.

Chris looked down with a mix of confusion, care and worry. "You okay? What happened?" Vince broke eye contact and started examining his paws, trying to sort through his jumbled thoughts.

Slowly, answers and explanations came from his memory as he remembered Short Circuit and the conversations he had with the pichu when he slept. "D-did I already tell you about Short Circuit?" he stammered between whimpers.

"No, I don't think so. Who's that?" Chris's kept his voice sensitive, steady and low to be as comforting as he could, helping Vince stay calm.

Rubbing a few tears out of his eyes, he began to explain as best he could. "Well, a lot of times when I sleep, I dream about talking to him. He says he's a pichu and that I'm controlling his body." He looked up to Chris to try reading his expression, but it remained unchanged.

"So, Short Circuit is why you're crying?" Chris asked, using one hand to pet Vince's head.

"I… sort of?" Vince once again delved deep into his incoherent thoughts to try and discern some form of understanding he could put into words. "I think that pikachu is Short Circuit's… dad." He struggled to even mumble the last word.

"And that's why he tried to protect you from me." Vince nodded.

"But… when Short Circuit called him… that… I was saying that…" Vince pushed against Chris's petting hand and crawled out of his embrace, walking over to the ball that lay motionless beside them.

"And that made you think of your dad." Vince nodded again, pawing at the pokéball and watching it wobble. He couldn't see the colors, but he could make out the design. Two thick bars were connected by another, making a sort of H-shape on the top. "I think that's the first time I've ever seen you cry." He grimaced a little, composed enough to be embarrassed. "It's nothing to be embarrassed by, Vince."

A sigh escaped his lips. "Was I even the one crying? Or was I just losing control?" He sat down in front of the ball, kicking it back and forth between his feet.

"Your thoughts were human," Chris explained. "Your body language, too. It looked like you, even if your body's different." He felt a sigh of relief. "You're still human in there." A smile crept its way along his mouth. Among his endless worries, at least one was put on hold. He was still human.

* * *

(A/N:) Finally, things are happening! Looking back, the plot's been moving pretty slowly for most of this story. Now that I've got a better idea of what I want to happen however, I'll try to have more happen in each chapter. I'm also going to do more to focus specifically on what is happening to Vince instead of describing what's happening from other people's points of view because I feel like I've been too haphazard with that recently.

Thanks to Namohysip for help with the new summary, now I have something that tricks people into thinking this story is readable.

Thanks for reading! If you would, I'd really appreciate your feedback. Good, bad, personal, universal, anything would be helpful. I want to improve any way I can, so let me know what needs improving.

Oh, and happy new year! : )


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